#but i can rationalize and logic at myself all day the bottom line is i hate this and i dont wanna do it and i need a break so bad

[riotbeankai]

I really don't know if I can keep doing this job. All the crap I was most afraid of when I was getting my degree that would make me hate doing the job didn't bother me much for the first year or so but now I feel like I'm dying every time I have to come in here and chase people down for important shit that's missing or incorrect that needs to be fixed before I can pay something and I genuinely don't know what to do about it. I feel like I don't really have any other options than to continue working the job I have but I also want to die for the first time in like a decade

[miss-noo-na]

And Then There Were Three (Part 5)

Title: And Then There Were Three

Rating: Mature.

Warnings: Smut; rough sex, dirty talk (vulgar language this chapter), choking

Summary: After catching you with Jooheon, Changkyun becomes distant. You’re determined to find out if he’s as jealous as you think he is.

Note: See masterlist for parts 1-4!

Just as you were able to read the shifts in Jooheon’s moods, you could do the same with Changkyun, but he was less subtle about it.

There was a heat that radiated off of him when you came near, and not the kind you were used to. His tone was deep and curt when you spoke at work, though it wasn’t unusual to appear casual in your professional environment. But this was different. This read like anger.

You hadn’t had the chance to be alone with him since he walked in on you and Jooheon at the dorm. Their schedule was getting hectic again and they barely had the time to breathe, much less do anything else. 

“Do you think he’s avoiding me?” You asked Jooheon in a hushed tone as you stood at the back of the room, looking busy with accessories.

Jooheon shrugged, feigning ignorance, but when he glanced at his friend you could see his gears turning.

“If he was upset about it, I feel like he would tell us. He’s not exactly shy about his feelings.” Jooehon offered with a small, reassuring laugh. 

“Has he said anything to you?”

“Not really.”

You sighed, knowing you would have to bring it up to him eventually.

For now, you focused on your job, or at least tried to. Every day, you asked yourself if this was a mistake, if all the fun was worth the turmoil you might find yourself in if someone got too jealous. You didn’t understand why now, when he had never once expressed even a hint of it before. He made it apparent since day one that it was exclusively physical, and he didn’t even bat an eye at sharing you with his best friend and co-worker. If anyone should be okay with it, it would be him.

There was more to it than that, though. You couldn’t help but think back to what it felt like being alone with Jooheon, his care and precision, his tenderness and his words. He didn’t treat you like a thing to be discarded and it was becoming apparent that you were more than a physical fancy to him. 

He could hardly help himself sometimes. The way that Changkyun felt compelled to seduce and play with you, Jooheon often had to stop himself from being too affectionate. It was getting to the point that the others teased him about it, and that didn’t help your situation with Changkyun one bit.

The worst part was that you liked it. You blushed and felt the slightest hint of butterflies from time to time that you put a great deal of energy into squashing. Catching feelings was the last thing you needed, and you were convinced it was only because it had been so long since you felt something other than lust. Plus, there was this profound sense of guilt you had for it, like you were cheating on Changkyun somehow.

Just as you were formulating a plan for how to approach him, you received a message out of the blue. He would be alone tonight and he wanted you to come over. The abrupt and welcoming message threw you off-guard, but you happily accepted the invitation. 

When he invited you in, his cold demeanor hadn’t changed much, and you wondered what his intentions were. You were anxious, watching him put something on the TV and meander around the kitchen before coming to sit next to you. He was surprisingly relaxed,  but you could feel the invisible wall he put up, even if he didn’t realize it.

“Are we going to talk?” You asked after a few minutes of silence.

“About what?” He asked almost too quickly in response. His gaze was hard-set into you as he turned and you felt challenged. That’s when the fear started to dissipate and boil up into anger. You had nothing to be sorry for.

“You know, I don’t appreciate all this attitude you’ve been throwing at me lately.” You said sternly, and you could tell he didn’t anticipate push-back this early into the conversation.

“I’ve barely spoken to you.” He laughed, and there was something smug about it that only pushed you further. You remembered being in relationships in the past and just knowing that a fight was brewing, and this was exactly like that.

“You’ve been passive-aggressive for over a week now, will you just tell me what's wrong?” You sighed, already exasperated. You thought being in a physical relationship only meant that you could escape these kinds of conversations. Apparently not.

 He turned away and you could see his jaw tighten, like he was holding back.

“Is it about me and Jooheon?” You asked, knowing that was the only thing it could be.

He looked back again just as quickly, eyes narrowed. “Maybe it is, but what does it matter?”

Finally, something you could work with.

“You couldn’t just tell me you were jealous?”

He laughed, “Who said that?”

“Oh my God,” You rolled your eyes and reacted with your entire body. “This is exhausting, why are men such babies about everything? Just communicate like an adult, Jesus. Why are we even fighting? We’re not married, this is pointless.” You rambled, not even looking at him because you were lost in your own frustration. When you stopped, he was half-smiling at you.

“I like when you get all flustered.”

You blinked and closed your mouth, then scowled as the words sunk in. “What?”

“You’re right, there’s nothing to fight about. I got a little upset about it, so what?”

“Oh, so you’re admitting it now?”

He edged himself across the couch so he was closer to you. “Fine, you want the truth?”

“Preferably,” You nodded.

“It wasn’t anything as petty as jealousy, I don’t get jealous.”

You narrowed your eyes, unsure what to make of his response, but curious to let him continue.

“I felt something different, and I didn’t really know how to process it quite yet, so I took some time to myself to think about it.”

He reached up and ran a finger from underneath your chin across your jaw line, his eyelids hanging low. You felt your heart rate speed up and cursed yourself for it.

“And what was that?” You asked quietly.

“I felt, hmm,” He mused for a moment before grinning. “Possessive.”

You swallowed the sound that threatened to part from your lips. Instead meeting it was an inquisitive “Oh?”

“I don’t own you.” He clarified, then let his eyes drift down, “But I do, don’t I?”

It was all part of the game. Realistically, out in the waking world, you were two capable adults with independent minds and the freedom to feel and do as you pleased. But once the door closed and you were under him, you knew you would let him do almost anything. It was the dynamic you both agreed upon from the first night, letting go of your inhibitions and self-imposed restraints and letting him have the control. It was the thing you longed for, the thing that kept you coming back to him.

“I’m a rational person, so I knew I couldn’t just be upset with you over something so normal and something you have every right to do.” He explained, then his voice deepend as he leaned in closer, “But I also couldn’t help picturing all the ways I was going to make you mine again.”

That word, mine, echoed in your head. Someone else had also uttered it to you in a moment of passion recently, and it sent a shiver down your spine. You had two people who seemed to want you desperately, and while you knew logically this was dangerous, it also excited you.

“You put me through all this just to tell me something I already knew?” You asked, and he smiled. 

“Would an apology help?”

You thought about it for a moment before answering. “I think that’s fair.”

He took you swiftly by the wrist and stood up, tugging you along. You fumbled for a moment before you stood and let him lead you to his bedroom.

You barely had time to process what was happening, one minute arguing on the couch and now here he was sitting you down on the edge of the bed, leaning down and kissing you before he knelt on the floor in front of you.

“What are you doing?” You asked, his hands trailing up your bare calves, up to your knees where the bottom of your skirt stopped and rested over your thighs. He then gripped your legs and pulled them up off the ground, causing you to lose balance and fall back onto the bed with a squeak. He pushed your legs open and the skirt fell back, too, exposing what was underneath.

“I’m apologizing.”

The initial shock wore off and you felt your cheeks warm as he laid a hand over your clothed center and pressed, teasing you for a moment before slipping his fingers underneath and feeling between your folds.

“Hm, you’re already wet but I know you can do better than that.”

He gripped the fabric and pulled it hard, forcing your legs up and together to rid you of the garment. When you let them fall back on either side of him, he wasted no more time, pushing your thighs apart and ducking his head down to taste you.

A sharp moan left you without warning and your hands fell to his hair. It had been a long time since he’d done this, and you almost forgot what his tongue felt like bearing down on your clit, rolling over the flesh and sucking you into his mouth. Changkyun abandoned this stimulation to travel downward, and you gasped unexpectedly when his tongue forced its way inside you, hands pressing back on your thighs to get deeper. Your fingers gripped his locks tight as you arched back and almost couldn’t take it. 

He pulled back for a moment, mouth glistening as he observed you, a low satisfied hum emanating from his chest.

“Look at what I do to you, you’re a mess.”

You blushed and closed your eyes tightly, feeling both aroused and embarrassed, and could only moan in response.

“Turn around.”

His voice was gruff as he stood up, and you let your feet fall gently to the floor as you sat up and stared up at him in awe for a moment. He was undoing his belt, looking down at you as he licked your juices off his lips.

“You heard me.”

You quivered as you went to turn over, and as your knees hit the bed he was already yanking the skirt and the rest of your clothing off you. Suddenly you were naked, kneeling on your hands and knees and arching your hips up as you peered back over your shoulder. 

He had discarded his own clothing and took his hard cock into one hand, stepping forward and deliberately brushing it against your entrance. You mewled and pressed back, trying to let him enter you, but he resisted.

“Do you want it bad?” He asked with a smirk.

You thought about making a sarcastic remark, knowing he was enjoying playing this game with you, but instead you countered him the only way you knew would actually make a blow to him.

You reached back and pulled yourself open, biting your lower lip and giving him a wanton yet demure stare. “Yes, please.”

His eyes darkened and the smile fell away from his face, he let out a rough, low sound as he grabbed your hips and aligned his cock with you. 

“I know I’m not the only person who can turn you on,” He started before leaning forward, sinking his cock deep into you just as he grabbed a handful of your hair and pulled your head back so his lips came as close as they could to your ear, “But I’m the only person who can give it to you like this.”

With that, his hips snapped into a pounding rhythm, fucking you like only he could, hard but with intent, making you grip the sheets in your hands and your legs to tremble. This was the moment when you were his, when he made it clear you belonged to him, at least for right now, and you embraced it. You craved it.

The harder he fucked you the weaker you became, arms starting to wobble in an attempt to hold yourself up. His thrusts were unrelenting, like he had been storing up all his energy just for this moment. 

The hand that still held your hair dropped down to your shoulder and he stopped briefly to pull you up. You wavered, dazed and shaky as you fell back against his chest and his arms circled under yours. One came up to lock your throat in his hand, and the other forced itself between your thighs, slick with your arousal. You groaned and arched against him, not sure which one you liked better.

Then he started to move again, thrusting up into you steadily, burying his cock to the hilt before letting gravity pull him back out just to do it again. His fingertips found your clit and he rubbed circles around the wet, swollen flesh as his other hand tightened around your neck.

“All of this is mine,” Changkyun growled against your ear. “Your body, your pleasure, your cunt. I own this.”

He was always rough, always commanding and always made you feel like you were his, but this was different. Unlike his typical playful candor, he sounded serious. The passion and possessiveness was overwhelming, somehow equal parts terrifying and exhilarating and you didn’t even consider stopping. Instead, his consuming words rasped heavily into your ear were pushing you toward a toe-curling, full body orgasm you couldn’t stop even if you wanted to.

You felt so exposed like this, nothing to hold on to, so you reached back and dug your nails into his thighs as your pleasure mounted. 

“I can’t,” You near-sobbed, trying to tell him you couldn’t hold on anymore.”I’m-it’s too much.”

He knew, he could read your body like the back of his hand; your shallow breaths and clenching muscles, slurred words, all tell-tale signs that your end was near. 

“Don’t hold back,” He said through his teeth, “Give me what's mine. Come for me.”

You sucked in a lungful of air as your eyes slammed shut, body pulling taut, then released it all in a long moan, bowing into him, squirming in his arms as you pulsed around his cock and sank your nails deeper in his skin. As you rode the last wave, he released you, letting you fall forward onto the bed and grabbing onto your hips to pull you flush against his pelvic bone, spluttering moans against the back of your neck as he came deep inside you.

You couldn’t hold yourself up anymore, collapsing face first on the bed and wrapping your arms under your head, breathing hard and dripping sweat. Changkyun managed to hold himself over you, but rested his forehead between your shoulder blades and panted against your moist skin.

He finally pulled himself from you and fell heavy on the bed next to you, and you peered up from over your arm.

“Sorry,” He mumbled, eyes glassy as he stared up at the ceiling, trying to control his pounding heart.

“For what?” 

“I kind of got out of hand there,” He rolled his head toward you and forced an awkward laugh. 

“It’s okay,” You rolled over on your side facing him, cheeks tinged with pink. “I liked it.”

The humor eased from his features as he looked at you for a long moment. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“I sort of lied earlier,”

“Oh?” You gave him a curious look, though you could guess what he was going to say.

“I may have actually been a little jealous. I was just trying to save face before.”

“I mean, the way you just fucked me made that abundantly clear.”

For the first time in all the times you had been with Changkyun, he blushed.

“I didn’t want to be petty about it, I don’t know what came over me.” He looked away. “It was fine when it was the three of us, it felt more like Jooheon was just an addition to something you and I already had. But when I saw just the two of you….” He trailed off with a sigh.

You couldn’t help but smile a little bit, it was nice to see him vulnerable for once. 

“How did it happen?” He asked suddenly, looking back at you with a sense of urgency, to your surprise.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean did you call him? Did he call you? I’m curious.” He said, trying to seem vaguely interested but you already knew it was more than that. You decided to humor him.

“I came over to talk to him. He had been acting distant, as you recall, and I wanted to know why.” You answered with a half shrug.

“Why was he distant?”

“Same reason you were. Feeling a little jealous and being too proud to just talk to me about it.” You smiled and he had a laugh at himself.

“This is going to sound weird, and probably selfish, but..” He faded out, waiting to continue. 

“But?” You encouraged.

“What does he have that I don’t? I mean, what does he do, that makes you want to be with him?”

You hadn’t expected that question, but it did seem natural now that he asked it. His ego was hurt, he was used to being the one who satisfied you, the one you came running to for your urges. 

“It’s...different with him. Not necessarily better, just different.” You tried to explain.

“Care to elaborate?” He asked, becoming visibly antsy to find out.

“I don’t know, he’s ...tender.” You struggled to find the words. “It’s not rough but it's passionate. And it’s not boring, but it's kind of soft and makes me feel precious.”

Changkyun’s face looked troubled as you spoke. “That makes sense.”

“Like I said, it’s not better. I like what you and I have, but sometimes I just want-”

“You want to feel loved.”

You blinked at him in surprise. The word love was troublesome to you. You had thought you were in love, once. It was foolish and naive and ended terribly, so you decided you would avoid those feelings if at all possible. But maybe he was right? Maybe you missed that feeling. But that didn’t mean you were in love, or that Jooheon-

“Jooheon is in love with you.” He spoke bluntly, cutting off your thoughts. Now your eyes widened even more and you spluttered out a laugh. “What? No…”

“He hasn’t told me or anything, but I can tell.”

You couldn’t believe that at all. Maybe he had a crush on you, but love?

“The problem is,” Changkyun reached out and pushed a stray piece of hair away from your eyes.

 “I think I might be, too.”

[writingismyhappytime]

Escaping Grace (Part 2)

Warnings: Language, Angst. This series will have a lot of anxiety/mental abuse mentions. 

"Are you sure this looks okay?" I ask hesitantly, standing in front of the floor length mirror in my room. Vale and I had spent all day yesterday trying to find something appropriate, but to my frustration I hadn't found a thing I'd liked.

Now I was staring intently at my reflection, dressed in my average clothes that don't really make me stand out at all --- which could be a good thing, I guess. No need in trying to be too obvious about wanting to impress them, right?

"Of course," Vale says from behind me as she slips her earrings in, glancing me over. "Those are your good ass jeans, you know that. You can make anything look good in those."

Well, that does make me feel a little better. Vale is the kind of person to tell you if you look terrible, so I take the statement pretty seriously I give myself another glance, but turn away after a moment, knowing I'm not going to be satisfied the more I look; I always overthink everything.

I glance at my best friend as she slips into some heels, which only make her look more imposing. Her black hair falls straight from her widows peak, and her makeup is simple today, just a flick of eyeliner to accentuate her eyes.

I'm always so jealous of her, I've told her that a hundred times. She has such a perfect figure, I always feel so short and stumpy in comparison. On my good days I feel like I look pretty badass, with my tattoos and piercings, depending on what I'm wearing to accentuate them --- but om days like these, I feel uncertain about everything. My hair, my clothes, how badly noticeable my breakouts are --- in my mind, surely that's the first thing our new business partners are going to notice.

Why is having clear skin such a struggle?

The temptation to fake sick and go crawl inside the bathtub is suddenly really strong. I can send Vale in as my ambassader and she'll have them eating out of the palm of her hand, no doubt. One wink from her, a soft smirk on her glossy lips --- she could seduce the gold from a leprechaun.

Maybe I won't have to fake sick after all, my stomach is doing flips and tying itself into knots. I rub my palms nervously against my dark jeans, fighting the ball of nerves in my throat as it threatens to choke me down. I can't do this, I can't meet them, I'll ruin everything. I should just keep myself as far away from them as I possibly can so that I don't ruin anything, and ---.

"Uh, where are you going?" Vale demands as I suddenly make a beeline for the bathroom. "You have to finish getting dressed, Leah! We're going to be late!"

"I suddnely don't feel very well," I reply as I step into the bathroom, curling my toes against the coldness of the tiles as I turn my back to the mirror above the sink. I gaze into the tub, my hands on my hips as I look at nothing inparticular. "Maybe this is a bad idea."

"The only bad idea is you thinking that it is one." She says from where she sits on the edge of my bed, fiddling with her heels. "Don't let your nerves get to you. You're so excited to meet them and I'm not going to let you miss this. Now," she levels a stare at me that I purposefully try to ignore. "Get dressed or you're going in those pikachu shorts and barefoot."

I glance down at my pajama bottoms.

"That would be a good impression, wouldn't it?" I sigh, running a hand through my messy hair. I let the bathroom door swing closed, and hastily get dressed before I can put anymore thought into it. The less I think, the better it'll be.

My fingers linger on the t shirt I thought about wearing, one of the designs from our merch line that hasn't been produced yet. Would it be too cheesy to wear my own band shirt? Probably. I just end up grabbing my favorite jeans, the one's with the holes in the knee's from where I'd fallen in the studio and put them there on accident. I sit down on the edge of the tub, grabbing my boots and slipping them on easily, pleased with the easy zipper so I don't have to lace them.

At least these are comfy clothes for me, something I'm familiar with. I wish I wasn't so anxious, that my palms didn't have sweat building on them, or that I feel like I'm going to be sick at any moment. It's a curse, and what the doctor prescribes helps, but I hate taking medicine all the time, too.

Vale suddenly starts thumping her hand impatiently against the door, and my eyes flick to the clock sitting on a shelf. She's right, if we don't get going we're going to be late. "Leah, are you ready yet? We gotta get going already!"

"I'm ready," I say, although I don't feel it at all. I cast one last look in the mirror, frowning. My blonde hair was pulled back so it doesn't fall in my face, revealing the red and blue streaks decorating the lower layer. My eyes are a bright green, and Vale did my eyeliner so the color really seems to pop more tonight. Some days I can agree with her that I'm pretty, but today I'm rolling in nerves and the thought is arguable.

"If we don't leave now we're going to be un-fashionably late!" Vale hisses from the other room, and I roll my eyes as I jerk open the bathroom door. She gives me an approving look before beckoning me forward, already heading for the front door of the apartment we share.

We have to grab a cab, but it doesn't take us long to get to the club. It's kind of exclusive, you have to be on a list to get in, but so long as Craig called and did his duty, we shouldn't have any problems. We could skip the line and head right inside.

God it would be mortifying if he forgot to call.

The first sign the night isn't going as planned is seeing Nate and Clarke waiting outside on the curb. I thought they'd be inside already, rubbing elbows and getting into trouble. I send Vale a nervous look she ignores, tossing the cabbie some bills as we both hastily get out of the car.

"Why aren't you guys already inside?" She demands the moment they're within eashot, and both men turn to look at us.

Clarke's brows are furrowed, his square jaw clenched. His brown hair is falling into his eyes, and I can tell he's frustrated. "We're not on the list."

"What?" Oh no, this is it, this is the end. Craig forgot, didn't he? Our big moment is already over, we can't even get inside the club. Fate has forsaken us, laughing in our face, it's all over, it's ---.

"Leah, stop looking all doom and gloom," Vale pats my shoulder, as if knowing exactly what the pained look on my face means I'm thinking. She's known me long enough to know I immediately go into a downward spiral of despair before any rationality hits.

"Craig must have forgot." Nate sounds annoyed, a cigarette hanging from his lips as he tries to light it. He keeps shifting his weight back and forth, and I'm not sure if it's due to the cold or his aggravation. "I already called him and he damn well forgot to get our reservation. What the hell are we supposed to do now, huh?"

This is so embarrassing.

I know my cheeks are burning, and I rub my arms uncomfortably. We're supposed to be getting famous and this is really a kick to the ego. I think "famous," pretty lightly, but at least well known enough to get into venues on our own.

"Well, don't panic," my roommate purses her lips thoughtfully. "We just have to find a way inside. The bouncer doesn't look like he would be too tough to crack, unless he's gay. Then one of you two is going to have to be bait while the rest of us sneak in."

Nate and Clarke do not look like they agree with her idea, both of their noses curling.

"I am not bait," Nate retorts, smoke drifting in a haze around him. "I would not lower myself to that level, thank you."

He sends all of us an annoyed look, just barely coming to Clarke's shoulder. Clarke always looms over the rest of us --- except tonight Vale is the same height as him and looks just as formidable. They look like people you wouldn't casually approach for directions, especially Clarke with his major RBF.

My eyes flick to the bouncer, and he looks familiar. His back is to us where he stands at the door beneath the light, barring entrance to our future. This man is keeping us from meeting the people that might propel our careers, and I almost didn't like him because of it. I have to remind myself that he's just doing his job, it isn't personal, he has no idea how important this is to us!

But maybe he should.

What if we just reasonably explained who we were, had Craig call their management to straighten this all out, and went from there? That was the most logical answer, and of course it would work; we don't have to seduce the bouncer, lure him and knock him out in an alley like Vale is trying to convince is our next course of action.

"Why don't we just tell him what's going on?" I suggest, giving them my idea. They have to concede it's the best course of action, and Clarke agrees with me even if Vale thinks I'm ruining all the fun. Our bassist turns away to call our manager, who's definitely in the dog house right now despite getting us this gig.

"Okay, why don't you go up to talk to him and tell him what's up?" Nate urges, and I give him a horrified look as I realize he's talking to me.

"What? Why me?" I cross my arms uncomfortably, but I'm starting to feel awkward standing out here with them like this. I feel like everyone has to know about our predicament, how embarrassing it is for us!

My cheeks are starting to get hot, and I rub my arms nervously.

"Because you're our frontperson, aren't you? They'll recognize you before they do the rest of us." he points out, but I absolutely do not like the idea! They know how I am about talking to people, I use an app to order all my takeout for goodness sake! I might be trying to get famous, but it's not because I want to really be that sociable.

"Probably not, no one will recognize me," I mumble, shaking my head quickly. "We're not that well known yet, yknow? Vale would have a better ---."

"Vale is currently cussing out Craig and is going to cause us a scene if we don't go in already," the drummer grumbles, both of us looking over where Clarke and Vale stand, her hissing into his cellphone where he holds it between them. I can only imagine Craig's apologetic tone.

Oh man.

I sigh, but one of us is going to have to go up there. I cast a glance at the long line of people streching down the row behind the red rope before disappearing around the block. If we waited in line like everyone else, we'd be hours getting inside!

I take a deep breath, exhaling against the anxiety. Well, I can do this. I can approach this man and ask very nicely that he let us in because our business associates are waiting to meet us and he is not going to be the reason we turn into one hit wonders to be forgotten about! Or, god forbid, our music is just played in commercials and we get associated with some type of biscuit for the rest of our career.

I cringe at the thought.

I take a deep breath before starting forward. I avert my gaze from the long line of people I'm brazenly walking past, hoping I'm not about to embarrass myself. I can see some of them cutting their eyes at me, there's no telling how long they've been waiting outside to get into this club. I can already hear the music, it's like the walls are thrumming, the concrete beneath my boots pounding with the beat.

It's muffled, but it makes me wonder how loud it is inside.

I make it to the front of the line, but the bouncers back is to me as he lets someone in the door.

"Excuse me," I start, trying to not sound as nervous as I feel. I'm supposed to be confident, I represent my band after all, so cool and sophisticated is supposed to be a given. If it wasn't for the fact I'm incredibly clumsy and socially awkward, my appearance at least would give off that vibe.

The bouncer turns to glance at me, and I blink as I recognize him.

"Liliya?" Alexei sounds surprised, but I'm probably the last person he ever expected to see tonight.

I smile at him, relaxing a little bit. "Hey, Alexei. It's been a while, huh?"

"A while? Years!" He reaches forward, grasping and squeezing my hand tightly. His Russian accent is still heavy on his words, but his English is good now. My family is originally from Russia, but came here before I was born; a lot of my older brothers still have the accent just like my mother and cousins on her side.  "You've grown so much, I almost didn't recognize you!"

Not being recognized as the sad sop from before is probably the best compliment he could have given me. I hate the thought of how I was before I was able to escape my family, my life in that small town --- he probably remembers the girl who wouldn't make eye contact and would barely speak a word. It took me a long time to get out of that, and I'm happier with how I am now.

I'm not so afraid anymore.

"I thought you were going back home," I say after a moment, glancing him up and down. Still thick brown hair, broad shoulders and tall. He's shaved his beard, and he looks rather formiddable in his black t shirt and jeans; standard bouncer, he fits the part.

"I extended my visa to stay longer. I am here on weekends for extra money. How are you doing, Liliya? How is your music?" He questions, completely ignoring the complaining crowd that's wanting to go inside.

My eyes flick to where my band is gathered a ways down, staring intently and waiting for some kind of signal. Should I start waving my arms frantically or something, is that the cue that it's safe to come in?

"It's going pretty well so far. My band is just down there," I gesture at them pointedly. "We're actually supposed to be meeting a fellow band inside, Black Veil Brides?"

I hate that I end on a question, like I'm not really sure if I'm supposed to go in or not. Alexei either doesn't notice or ignores it, he just nods his head. It's kind of nice to see him, a cousin that I actually liked; he was always nice to me, always laughing or having a good time despite my mothers stern and serious demeanor. He didn't let her damper his happiness.

"Oh, yes, I let them in twenty minutes ago. They mentioned something about meeting someone. Come," Alexei tugs on the red velvet rope, waving his beefy hand at my band, who hastily scurries forward; I can see the relief on all of their faces.

Maybe one embarrassing moment can be missed for us?

"Thank you, Alexei," I say as they hastily file past me through the black scratched door, Vale sending me a curious look. "I'm glad I ran into you, too!"

"You must keep in touch more. Here," He reaches into his shirt pocket, pulling out a business card. I glance at it before slipping it into my backpocket, seeing how nice and sleek it looks. "If you need me, you reach me. I'm here for a few more months before I must extend visa again."

"I'll keep that in mind. Thank you," I say, giving him another smile before I step through the black door and into the darkness of the club.

This is the first time family has ever done anything for me.

~~~~~~

"How the hell did you manage to get us in, Leah?" Nate asks as he falls into step beside me, casually slipping his arm over my shoulder. I let him pull me to his side, my hand pressing lightly against his lower back; he really didn't need to wear that much cologne. "That was badass! I thought for sure we were gonna get stuck outside."

"Oh, I knew the bouncer, he's my cousin." I explain after a moment, my cheeks heating. We're going through a dark hallway, but I can just dimly see the door at the end, lights strobing underneath, and already the music is so loud I'm having to almost shout. I figure once we get inside we won't be able to hear anything at all.

Vale kicks open the door rather roughly, and I cringe as the music hits us full force. It's obnoxiously loud and my ears immediately ache from the bass. I can feel it through the floor, and the heat of the room! It's intense.

I can see where we have to go down a flight of stairs to get to a platform that leads to the bar, and a few more steps until you reached the club floor. The place is packed with people, dancing, drinking, having a good time. I wish I could relax like them, throw my hands carelessly in the air and just jump to the beat of the music.

Vale states I'm high strung all the time, kicking myself in the shin by looking for the next disaster instead of enjoying the current peace. She's not wrong, but I don't know how else to be. I annoy myself sometimes, and I wish I could change, but it would be a hard habit to drop.

"There's the guys," Vale shouts after a moment, and I follow her pointing finger across the room. I don't know how she knows it's them, everyone looks the same to me. Maybe it's the goggle of groupies crowding around the VIP area in their tiny dresses and glowing neon jewelry; how were we supposed to get past that? We're probably not even going to be able to get into the VIP area!

"Let's go, they probably think we're ditching them with how late we are," Clarke says, and I cringe. Thirty minutes past our meeting time, I hate that. I'm so weird about being punctual.

I latch tightly onto Vale, not wanting to get separated. I have a harder time keeping up with her longer strides, I almost feel childish clinging to her as we descend the metal steps. She squeezes my hand comfortingly, Nate and Clarke falling into step behind me.

I'm not quite sure how we all manage to stay together through the crowd, I'm pretty sure Clarke has a tight grip on Nate's collar to keep him from straying; no doubt he's already spying potential conquests for the night, and I roll my eyes at the thought. I'm starting to think that's all that goes through his head, he never takes anything seriously, at all! It drives me absolutely nuts, it's like he doesn't care!

Vale suddenly stalls in front of me, and I thoughtlessly step up beside her, seeing we've reached the impenetrable throng of groupies. There's a few guys mixed in, all talking excitedly out of reach of the red rope separating them from the VIP section. I wish I could lean around them, just wave and they part like the red sea so I could get where I needed to be.

How annoying.

"Excuse me," Vale says impatiently, boldly stepping forward. One of the girls glances at her, but hastily steps out of her way when she sees Vale isn't playing around. I know Clarke is looming behind me, and we all follow Vale forward, making sure to avoid all eye contact. I'm shorter than both of them, so I try to hunker between them so no one really notices me.

It's usually not too hard, but they're eyeballing us, and for some reason I have the feeling we've been recognized. If they're saying something I can't hear it over the obnoxious music, and I'm more than relieved when the bodyguard lording over the velvet rope opens it so we can step into the most peaceful section of any nightclub I've ever been in.

I let my breath go in relief as we head for where the other band is sitting. They've noticed us, and all of them are straightening, glasses already scattered on the polished black table where they sit.

My eyes flick to Andy instantly, and it's like all my nerves settle in my stomach, twisting it into this tight, awful knot that wants to rise into my throat. I rub my palms nervously against my jeans, hoping they don't want to shake hands.

Black Veil Brides is known for their black hair and bodypaint, the story they tell with their music. Andy, the lead singer, his voice is deep, and I swear when I first heard his music it sent a shiver down my spine. I loved their look, the tattoos, the paint and piercings --- I'm not one much for all the extra paint myself, my skin is too sensitive, but it works for them well enough.

Is it bad I know exactly who each of them are before they introduce themselves?

"You're Escape from Grace, right?" It's CC who greets us as we finally reach the table, rising to his feet. They're all dressed so... normal, kind of like us, and that makes me feel a little better. None of us really look like we're ready to party in a nightclub, except for maybe Nate with his untucked button up shirt and his attention still focused on the party raging a few feet from him.

I glance at Vale as she reaches to shake CC's hand, her lips lifting into a smile. Her hand lingers in his just a few moments longer than necessary before she pulls away, her eyes flicking him over from his tight black jeans to his headband keeping his hair at bay.

"Yeah. I'm Vale, that's Nate, Clarke, and Leah." She introduces us, gesturing with her hand. Andy hasn't really paid us any attention yet, he's draining a beer and leaning back in his chair; from the looks of it, they're all a few drinks in already. I used to watch his music videos and interviews all the time, sigh dramatically when he spoke; I just liked listening to his voice sometimes, I found it soothing. Now... well, considering I'm meeting him, I find it kind of embarrassing.

His black hair used to be really long, but now he'd cut it shorter where it barely fell into his blue eyes, the trademark eyeliner slightly smeared around them making the color stand out a little more. He's cleanshaven, just like the rest of them, and they all have dark hair --- probably dyed, no doubt.

"It's nice to meet you guys. Come on, sit down," Ashley, their bassist, says, gesturing at the empty chairs before us. Vale somehow finds her spot between Nate and Clarke, putting me beside Ashley, who gives me a grin I force myself to return. I squirm nervously in the cushioned chair, clenching my hands in my lap. I'm so not good with meeting new people, I wish I hadn't come. It's like the idea of it sounds good, but when it's actually happening all I want to do is leave.

"I'm glad you guys finally made it. We were starting to think you stood us up," Ashley calls after a moment, and Vale looks apologetic.

"Sorry about that! We got held up at the bouncer --- Leah had a family reunion," she adds hastily, and I'm kind of glad she does. How about we don't let them know we weren't on the list and couldn't even get in, okay? Kind of kills our vibe.

"Family reunion?" Jinxx questions, his hands clasped in front of him. He's their --- well, he does a little of everything. He's the guitarist, violinist, cellist, plays piano --- the man is a plythora of talents that he utilizes almost every show. It's very impressive, actually.

Nate nudges me, and I hesitate; do they really need the details? I mean, is that important? Everyone doesn't have to look at me so expectantly!

"My --- my cousin is the bouncer." I force myself to say after a moment, digging my nails into my palms as I shrug my shoulders. "I haven't seen him in a while, so we had to catch up. Sorry about being late," I say sincerely, glancing around the table. "That's not typical of us."

I want to assure them of that, so they don't think too lowly of us. Ashley is to my right, than Jinxx, and beside him is Jake, their lead guitarist. Andy is beside him, than CC on the edge beside Clarke, who sits stonefaced as always. He could really try to go for a more friendly face.

"How about some more drinks?" Vale suddenly suggests before anyone has a chance to respond, her voice bright. She raises her hand expectantly, and after a moment a frazzled woman manages to make it to our crowded table; really,so many of us shoved together, I feel like I'm melting. It's extremely hot in here!

"Order?" the woman asks, her hair done up in curls and makeup thick around her eyes. She's pretty, French apparently, and I'm not sure how she expects to hear any of us over this cacaponous music; I can't imagine having to work in a place like this.

Everyone rattles off their orders, and her pen moves furiously across her notepad before pausing. She frowns, her eyes raising to glance around the table before she asks us to repeat that one more time.  We try one more time, but I can see it on her face; she has no idea.

"Two scotches, another beer, and a martini for her," I say as I halfway turn in my chair, gesturing at Vale. "Just a coke for me, thank you. And don't worry, it's really loud in here, so I don't know how anyone can hear a thing." I add, not wanting her to feel bad. She blinks after me before giving me a smile; she looks relieved.

"Thank you. I'll be right back with your orders." She says before turning, disappearing through the throng of people.

"What magic language did you two just speak?" Ashley asks as I shift, realizing everyone is looking at me. Some of them look surprised, some impressed, and I can feel the heat rising in my face.

"French..?"

"How did you learn French? That was so smooth." He compliments, crossing his arms on the table as he looks at me. I avert my gaze, shrugging my shoulders.

"I was an army brat, I've lived all over the world." I explain when it's obvious no one else is going to say anything. "I can speak a little of this and that."

"You're fluent enough to order alcohol, that's good enough for me." he chuckles, his light voice lilting. He's probably the shortest of the group, with high cheekbones and studs decorating his ears. I think he has his own clothing line now, so he's very successful; him and Nate will get along great when it comes to chasing down the women I'm sure. That's the impression I've always gotten of him, anyway.

I've fangirled enough over this band I feel like I know way too much information.

I glance behind me as the noise increases, seeing that the club is starting to get pretty crowded now. Probably due to the photos of the two bands sitting together I know those groupies have been taking and blasting all over social media. I squirm a little in my chair, listening to everyone attempt to talk and hear each other.

I don't think I'll ever be able to hear again after we leave this place.

"So," Andy speaks for the first time tonight, leaning forward a little as he glances at my band. "What are you guys going to open with at our show?"

Oh, right down to business, okay.

"The Last Song is Ours," Vale answers him easily, steepling her fingers in front of her on the table, lights glinting off her black nail polish. Honestly, she would make a great frontwoman for our band, I wish she was the one with the vocal talents and I could just play guitar. Alas, Vale sounds like a screeching duck with something stuck in its throat when she tries to sing, which is also why she avoids even doing back up vocals.

We all have our strong suits, and that's just not hers.

"It should get the crowd pumped, get them ready for you guys to come on stage." She adds when he doesn't comment. "Have you heard it?"

"I've listened to it, your manager sent us your opening list. It's a good song," Ashley states before Andy can reply. "You can reach some serious heights with that voice, Leah. It's impressive."

"Oh, thanks." I nervously brush a strand of blue hair behind my ear. "It's one of our most popular right now, so it's... uh, it's good."

Oh jeez.

It's good? That's all that I can manage?

I'm so relieved when the waitress is suddenly back with our drinks, sliding them around the table. She gives me a bright smile that I return as I take my drink, deciding to leave a nice tip for her.

"All the drinks are right," Jinxx somehow manages to sound surprised as he glances around.

"Why wouldn't they be?" I blink. I know what they said, I ordered them right.

"Y'know, it's a little loud in here if you guys are wanting to talk business," Vale says loudly as a rumble of bass manges to shake the icecubes in my coke. "Why don't we blow this place? It's a little crowded anyway."

Oh yes please. The heat in this room is murder!

"I know a food place a few blocks out, I'm starving anyway. We should be able to hear each other there anyway," Ashley suggests immediatley, already rising to his feet. I blink as he offers his hand to me, and reluctantly I let him help me to my feet; why does he keep paying me so much attention? Vale has been the one leading all the conversations.

"Sounds good to me. Let's get out of here," Clarke says in agreement, his arm coming to rest around my shoulder almost protectively. I glance up at him, but his square jaw is set, and I think he's actually annoyed --- it's hard to tell, since he always looks that way. "Food sounds nice."

Ashley raises his perfectly done brows, raising his hands as if acknowledging --- wait a minute.

Was he trying to flirt with me and I didn't know it? He's barely said a few sentences to me, Clarke doesn't have to baby sister me all of a sudden!

Although, I don't really mind. He's looking out for me, and at least that'll get Ashley to lose all interest, too. I'm not interested in any sort of romantic relationship, probably ever. I'm quite fine with our music being our focus, the driving force in my life right now.

Although --- no, no brain, none of that. No excuses. You can ogle but not touch, I tell myself as Andy brushes past me.

To be honest, I'm kind of disappointed meeting them. Everyone seems friendly but him, and he was who I was so excited to meet in person. Maybe when we're out of the club, it'll be different. Sometimes it's just the environment.

Vale would tell me not to make excuses for him, and I know she's irritated as she stogs after the other band. It takes us a good bit to make it across the club and up the stairs, mostly because the bodyguards have to clear the groupies out of the way. I'm kind of surprised when they even look excitedly at us, that we're --- well, someone recognized our band!

It's nice, and a pretty damn good feeling to not feel so insignificant, too!

It makes me stand a little straighter, walk with a little more pride.

Even if Andy isn't into us opening for us, at least I know our music is good. We've worked so hard to claw our way this far, and just that one girl gasping at us, squealing when she realized who we were --- that's enough for me to know we're worthy of this.

This is our opportunity, and we're going to do so damn well that Black Veil Brides will be opening for us one day, I'm sure of it!

I also know that when they do, I won't have such a pissy attitude meeting them, either.

[kuriquinn]

Because apparently, we all need some kind of disclaimer these days…

This feedback debate is getting ridiculous and causing people who are normally very level-headed and polite to act ridiculous. A huge chunk of the dissonance is people reacting to things out of context or internalizing hypothetical situations as direct personal attacks, or weighing in on the matter as if there is only a right way and a wrong way to look at the matter. Some of it is about petty stuff, such as the chosen terminology or vocabulary used to express opinions (and then taking that completely out of context to make baseless accusations against people).

 ***

MAIN MISCONCEPTION:

Somehow, this debate has gone from “is it wrong for content creators to want to encourage leaving feedback on their work” to “should content creators expect guaranteed feedback?”

Which, honestly, are two different questions entirely, and dissecting either of them would take an entire extra post.

They both touch on a common idea, however, one which seems to be the default in fandom today: that any content creator who awaits basic gratitude/acknowledgement for their fandom contributions (or frequently encourages or asks for it) is being problematic in some way.

Because somewhere along the line, it became gauche to be proud of one’s work or seek acknowledgement for it.

It reminds me of how, growing up (raised in a Christian environment), we were praised for not drawing attention to ourselves, for not being outwardly proud of our accomplishments or looks or talents. The minute you expressed confidence or pride in something you could do, you had people cautioning you not to let it go to your head, not to be proud/vain/arrogant/immodest, not to brag, not to fish for compliments, not to seem like you were better than anyone else.

There is something fundamental in our society that discourages people from displaying pride at their accomplishments or expecting their work to be treated according to what it’s worth. Especially if you are female/female-presenting or part of a female-dominated sphere/career. (Again, that goes into an entirely different discourse, so we’ll leave it at that!)

When really, it has nothing to do with being better than anyone, it has to do with feeling accomplished at having achieved something, at having someone acknowledge that ‘hey, that thing you did which took a lot of work? You did it! That’s awesome!’.

All artists want some form of this.

I started writing fanfiction twenty odd years ago. And I started off in that mindset of, “well, I’m writing for myself, I don’t care about comments or feedback”. I just had all these headcanons and no one in my life to share them with, so I word-vomited on the internet whether anyone cared or not.

And while I was honing my craft and improving myself, it continued not to matter.

But now that I’m at my current level, where I know that I have a skill at writing, where I know I have the talent for it, and what I write is yards better than the tripe I produced when I first started out, now I want to find out from my readers what they like about it. If the aspects of my work that I enjoy the most have had the intended impact, or if someone likes the way I wrote a character or a specific dialogue.

But when I see that 100 people are reading my latest chapter or viewing my newest image (when I try my hand at making art, which I’m still very uncertain about!), and I get 1 comment about that? What I see is, “1 person liked my work, 99 people didn’t.” I know it’s not logical, and the rational part of my brain knows that’s not true, however, it’s really hard to argue with numbers.

And if 99 people don’t like my work, what’s the point of putting up anymore?

Now, let’s be fair.

There are some creators who don’t care.

It’s true—some amazing providers of content in my fandom and other fandoms honestly don’t care. They are at a stage in their life or career or whatever where they are honestly doing this only for themselves, where they create for themselves and share it and hey, if someone sees it great, if no one sees it, fine.

There’s nothing wrong with that, and even if it’s not my personal experience, I respect it.

What I don’t respect is how somehow, these creators who don’t expect or care about feedback are being used in this debate as some kind of paragon of creator virtue.

“Ooh, look, So-and-So doesn’t care about feedback, so no creators care about feedback—you’re being selfish and entitled for asking people to take the time to boost your ego.”

And that immediately paints a target on the backs of anyone who expresses an interest in receiving any form of acknowledgement for their work. Which, quite frankly, sucks.

This type of reaction is not isolated to the fandom sphere, either; in much of the art world, creators are often shamed or looked down on as being ingenuine or not “true” to their art if they want some form of acknowledgement.

That is, to put it plainly, bullshit.

An artist or writer who puts in 24 hours of work on a picture or story and then puts a note at the bottom asking people for feedback, is no less an artist/writer than someone who put in 24 hours of work and didn’t ask for anything. Both of them are just expecting different things from the relationship they have with their audience.

Both are valid.

Not that anyone could know that from some of the (frankly) baffling comments and arguments I’ve been seeing popping up on my dash the past few weeks. (See my other post...)

I’m sure there will be a ton of people who look at this wall of text and either ignore it, or worse, pick and choose a bunch of phrases out of context, then reblog just those specifically to make their points and turn what I’ve spent time out of my day working into a cohesive argument into something along the lines of “sdhjakfhajk all content consumers are selfish and everyone should comment or die ajdsahsjdfhasj”.

Unfortunately, that’s internet culture.

I can only hope that calmer heads will prevail and that someone who maybe didn’t think about this issue very much before took the time to read and think about what I’ve said.

[funkymbtifiction]

Hi guys! I I'm an ENXP and I was looking for some advice about knowing myself better. I saw the mods are ENPs and maybe you guys could help me. I recently noticed a pattern regarding my own actions that is basically ruining my life. I seem to rely too much on my Ne, specially about my future and my career. I'm ruled by a need of pursuing anything that catches my attention in a determined moment. I obsess over it for a while and then move on. I've changed my major 4 times now. Every activity I do is temporary. And if I don't find something I can obsess over I get depressed and bored. Anyways, I think this has led me to not trust myself anymore, since I can't commit to anything because I lose interest in everything and I'm always looking for new possibilities. I have reached a point where I can't allow myself to pursue everything I want and I have to make decisions and commit. But I'm too scared to become trapped and take responsibility for my own decisions. I think this would be easier if I knew myself better, but I don't think I know who I am besides my own random interests, which is weird I guess. How can I develop my own Fi? Or Ti? How do you guys deal with your dominant Ne? How do you commit to things? I'm 23 by the way. Shouldn't I have developed some Fi or Ti or something by now? I turned to mbti because I wanted to gain a better understanding of myself but holy shit this is hard. I could only recognize my dominant Ne. All this self analysis seems useless if I don't really know myself, I realized I'm not self aware at all. So anyways, as fellows Ne doms how did you guys developed your auxiliary functions? Any advice will be amazing! Thank you guys for everything you do here!

The first thing you need to do is recognize is you are an Enneagram 7 and all of this is ‘normal’ for them in lower health levels. To overcome this, you have to ‘grow up’ as a 7 and stop allowing fear of commitment or quick loss of focus from dominating your life. You have control over yourself, you are not utterly helpless to your whims (said the Fi user who has a moral tone of ‘you make your own choices and messes and you have to get out of them’ ;).

7s have to learn to be open to the scary idea of commitment to reap the dividends of hard work.

Read the 7 profile and see how allowing yourself to ‘run away’ from commitment (which includes not finishing or devoting yourself to any project) can hinder your life. Once you recognize WHAT you are doing, and WHY you are doing it, you can develop the power to STOP YOURSELF from doing it, or from allowing ‘excuses’ or fear to run you away from good things.

ENTP Mod. : Charity is right. Here is also where the judging functions come into play. With Fi, you can eventually weed out that which you aren't personally passionate about/ those goals which don't align with your personal values. With Ti, you can see a chain reaction of the patterns in your life, and determine the most effective path to help yourself using logic to streamline your processes, make it more elegant.

Slow the hell down. Force yourself to stop running toward the future and live right now. Repeat the mantra of ‘right now is all that matters today’ a 100 times an hour if you have to. Be present. Be invested. Bring yourself into ‘now.’

My co-mod is a 7w6 ENTP who suffers from a lot of the same issues; I will nudge her to offer her two cents to this post, in regards as to what she is currently doing about it. Basically, she had to talk herself into getting a permanent job rather than talking herself out of it. Once she got into it, she realized it didn’t suck as much as she feared. Her brain is her own worst enemy.

I had to talk myself into this job. I gave myself lots of reasons why I would love it. It might sound a little unrealistic going in with pre set expectations but at least you will not go in blind. Making a pros cons list is always a good idea. It helps to sift through your multiple ideas, and narrow down the ones which can really work. Test out the feasibility of your ideas, opportunities before hand. Talk to people, do your research. Just remember that things will never be as bad or boring as you think them to be. This is a cliche but something which helps me in the mornings when I know I have boring work to do is "Get up, dress up, show up. Never give up." Also it helps to live from day to day. Don't worry too far into the future, you never know what variables might upset your plans.

Work-wise, a 7 needs to travel, get the ‘high’ of meeting new people, and not to be involved in sheer detail-driven grunt work. They need challenges to work toward and obstacles to overcome. Pick a career that offers you all of that. If you do not, you will have a string of 6 months at ___ jobs that do not look good on your resume. Find a career in something that you feel passionate about, that offers some kind of mental stimulation.

ENTP 7 co-mod is an attorney who loves to find ways to ‘get around things’ in the law.

ENTP Mod. note: Always try to remember the root of your passion when you feel like defecting from one option to another. If you must leave, leverage what you have learned in one place and how you can dress that up to make your hopping about look good. That's what I did, and it worked for me. Some of the reasons I love my job are the constant intellectual stimulation, creative aspects of it, my love for criminology pays off, meeting interesting people. Sure there are sucky days when you have to deal with the bureaucratic demons. But that won't be every day. Unless your role requires you to do something like it. In which case I would suggest that you avoid picking up detail heavy, low Si or adherence related work which will make you feel miserable and frustrated. Try to pick something that plays to your strengths, improve your weaknesses. Compete with nobody but yourself. Every day you are better than you were, yesterday. Even with a little effort. It is important to not give up. It is so hard for 7s but we have the gift of rationalizing. So instead of using it as a mechanism to justify dropping things, use it to tell yourself why you should stick around. You as a 7 can make most things fun. So find little tricks and ways to make the work day fun. Whether it is achieving small, impactful targets or making games out of small, low stakes things. Also, having money and being able to live nicely is fun. Nobody is gonna pay you if they think that their money will be wasted on training you if your pattern is just leaving jobs. It took me a long time to develop this perspective but I am glad I did.

I (ENFP 6w5 sp/so) chose a career in magazine editing, because it gives me time to do what I actually love, which is write novels. I’m afraid I can’t give you advice from my own life that would work for you, because a 6w5 sp/so is far more focused and driven to finish their projects than a 7w6, which means I push through ‘the boring, tedious bits’ of projects regardless of how ‘excited’ I am. It’s not fun to edit a book 7 times, but I still do it. I force myself to show up to work, to sit there for 3 or 4 hours, and commit to X amount of words, pages, etc.

Do you think it’s “fun” for me always to keep this queue stocked, or to type up characters at the end of a long day because the queue is low? Or go back and update old profiles and move them from this blog onto wordpress? No. I hate it sometimes. It’s boring as hell. But I committed to it, I will see it through, even though looking into my “to update” folder makes me want to scream. I tackle huge projects one step at a time. I’m disciplined but I can procrastinate at work, rather than doing whatever needs doing.

Which really is the bottom line. You want to finish things? Just do them. Force yourself to show up and do the work, even if it’s “boring.” Most of life isn’t fun. Paying the bills isn’t fun. You do boring stuff to make a living, so you can have the money to do fun things. If you do not learn to do it, whether or not it is fun, you will wind up ‘stuck at home this month, because I have no money.’

That frustrates a 7 even more than being bored at work.

Accept that your fear of commitment is a fear-driven lie.

You are not going to get trapped by committing to something or someone. Head types massively over-think things and allow fear – in the 7’s case of ��missing out” on better things – to dominate their life. Admit it’s fear. Admit that allowing fear to ruin your entire life is stupid. Then do something against the fear. Do the thing fear tells you not to: commit and work at it. Fight the urge every day to leave. Stick it out, and prove you ‘can’ to yourself.

Middle functions. You’re in college so you should be seeing either some Ti analyzing or Te “buckle down and set goals and get this schoolwork finished by the deadline” kicking in. Are you more inclined to self-doubt and beat yourself up like a young FiTe user after ‘failing’ to organize your time efficiently or to make excuses and blame external circumstances like a young TiFe user?

My Fi has always been strongly evident, though I didn’t know what it was at the time. Things that set off a NOPE response in me vs. the ‘rest of everything, which I don’t care about.’ The intense sensitivity as a child. The compassion for other people and especially for small animals. The understanding of emotional dynamics and how people ‘feel.’ The constant angst between caring too much about people’s feelings and being low Te blunt or rude when I’m having an off day. The ‘going away from everyone’ to deal with my feelings in private. I have always fiercely, Fi-ishly known what I like and do not like, and have no ability to ‘tolerate’ things that I do not like. Once, I didn’t like half the people seated at my table at a public event, so I shut down completely and did not say a word to anyone at the table for two hours. My Fe friend also hated them, but smiled and charmed them all. Lucky girl. She can fake her feelings. I can’t.

- ENFP Mod

[nonsensicalobsessions]

apogee/perigee

“What do you want, Tom? Before the gods, I just don’t know anymore.”

Tom looked at her eyes and knew he had to choose his words very carefully. Everything was balanced upon them, and he never felt so pressured, so tongue-tied. He’d stood on countless stages, in front of thousands, but never felt the weight of words laying so heavily upon him as they did now.

“I want...I want...”

Her eyes were patient, as they always were. She wouldn’t hurry him, nor would she be scornful. She would wait for his answer, but he also knew that she had reached her limit with his vagaries. Her heart, as giving as it was, could strain no further.

“I want to be loved as a man, and only as a man. Not as how I am packaged, or as I am presented.”

“I am not naive. I know what the gossip sites say, how I am described on fan sites and webpages. Yes, I admit it, I have googled myself, I did get drunk once and went onto Tumblr, and looked up the stories that have been written about me. I suppose I should be flattered, but in truth, they made me horrified...after I read a few, I was so ill, I had an anxiety attack so fierce i could barely move.”

Part of Tish wanted to laugh. the thought of Tom peeking into Tumblr, or the fan fiction writing sites, made her wanted to throw her head back and howl until her sides ached. She could only imagine the expressions that would have crossed his face, oh, to have been a fly on the wall...but the larger part of her, the better part of her nature, was disturbed to think of her friend, her lover, the man who held her heart and soul (sometimes so carelessly, it seemed) having an anxiety attack. 

Against her will, she leaned forward, and took his hand and clasped it in hers. “What upset you so badly? Can you talk about it? Would it help?”

He pulled away from her and the comfort she was trying to provide as he began to pace, pulling at his hair. “Have you ever been to any of those sites? They’ve built me up to be...some sort of a romantic hero, a sexual paragon! They’ve done everything but measure my cock, Tisha, and while I admit some of my wardrobe choices in the past, in combination with some particular photographs have made things...well...” he winced as he rubbed the back of his neck and licked his lips a few times. “Let’s just say they weren’t well thought out.

“But Tish? I cannot live up to those expectations. I do not walk around spouting Shakespeare at any given moment, I cannot have sex for hours upon hours on end, and cannot guarantee anyone... these...women and men...multiple orgasms...in multiple positions, some of which I am convinced would put me in traction...!”

Tish fought very hard to keep a calm, objective, yet sympathetic expression on her face. While the conversation was not going as she expected it to, it was shedding some light on the difficulties they were experiencing in their relationship. 

She still had to work very hard to keep from smirking. Because in many cases, she was convinced Tom knew exactly what he was doing. He knew he was an attractive man, he knew he photographed well, and he did everything the photographers told him to do. If that mean eye-fucking the camera, well then by God he did everything but grab a condom. Because he was good at it, it helped his career, and let’s be honest—he liked it. And if the enormity of his success was a bit frightening, the fervor of his fans a bit shocking? See above. Lather, rinse repeat.

And gods above knew he wasn’t a fame whore. He valued his privacy, and behaved accordingly. But when he was out and about to promote whatever project he was attached to...? As he aged, he wasn’t all about seducing the camera, but now it was worse: it was his raw passion for the project itself that radiated. 

Women around the world were so used to tepid masculinity, she mused. Caught up in their numbers, their business, their bottom lines, their emails and their phones. Then this Adonis comes along and speaks with fire and energy about truth and beauty and honesty in art and literature and relationships...and his audience simply laid down in droves.

And for some reason that defied all logic, all reason, all the fates and karmic justice in the universe, this man, this insanely handsome, gifted, talented actor, this man, found her interesting. Began a friendship, then a relationship with her. 

They became lovers, and although it might not have been everything that he read about online, she certainly wasn’t complaining or left wanting on that score. He was tender and passionate by turns, and certainly very skilled and considerate in the bedroom. Or any room, Tom wasn’t picky.

Tom continued, oblivious to her thoughts. “I want to love as foolishly and recklessly as a schoolboy, without care of how it may be judged and consequences be damned. Which is about as likely as the sun rising in the west. I am not going to howl at the moon, I know what I gave up to have my career...but knowing the price of something doesn't always mean you know what it will cost.”

~

Abruptly, he stopped, and looked at the tiny woman who was curled up in his window seat.

Really looked at her, and her voice echoed in his head:

What do you want, Tom? Before the gods, I just don’t know anymore.

He saw once again her patience, but also saw the sadness that she was wearing like a cloak, stooping her shoulders, diminishing the light he had admired in her eyes.

Like a video on fast forward, images of their relationship flew through his mind—their first meeting, he was preoccupied, and in a hurry, without an entourage, and he burst through a door without pause or thought of who might be on the other side, literally sending the small woman flying as she was juggling her bag, tea, and satchel on the other side while she was trying to open it. The corner of the door struck her cheekbone and brow bone, and she’d struck her head, hard, on the way down. He’d been horrified, insisted on her going to hospital for X-rays. Luke had been apoplectic when he heard how Tom had literally scooped her up, poured her into her car, and broken several very important traffic laws to get the then-nameless woman to the closest A&E, arriving a babbling, panic-stricken mess.

She’d ended up with “only” a black eye. And once she got over the shock of being knocked over, almost knocked out, as well as virtually abducted, she was a great deal more composed than Tom. She refused to allow him to take any responsibility for the event, reminding him “doors open both ways.”

He was the one, though, who ended up falling head over heels, and staying that way.

She was bright, and laughing, and at first, they were two suns, delighting in each other’s warmth.

But Tom’s orbit was wide, and his path swift. He would swing past her in dizzying arcs. She understood it. Accepted it.

What should could not understand, or accept, was being left behind in his thoughts, and his heart. And as night follows day, he saw it happen, in retrospect, over and over again. He went to this Fashion Week in New York, that awards ceremony in Tokyo, and more, and more. He didn’t ask her to accompany him. She had her job, her life. She simply couldn’t drop everything to follow where the cosmic winds would sweep him next. Hell, half the time he didn’t know from month to month until some thing, some opportunity, dropped in his lap, and he would be mad not to follow it with his trademark smile.

And so a visit became a video call, a call became a text. 

And a text...didn’t happen at all. 

He would rationalize it away, “Oh, she’s asleep. I don’t want to disturb her. She works so hard...I know well how hard, she needs her rest.”

What he didn’t know was how lightly she’d be sleeping, if she slept at all, as she kept checking her phone, waiting for it to vibrate in her hand...and then waking to dried tear tracks on her cheeks. Castigating herself for being such a doormat. Wondering when she had allowed herself to become so weak.

After the first such circuit, he returned home, expecting to find a welcoming smile and a warm embrace. He found instead a cautious, wary expression, and an honest, frank discussion. 

No tears. No recriminations, no passive aggressive sighs or comments. Just an open talk on how she felt forgotten, and devalued.

Tom was appalled. He recognized what had happened, how he had behaved abominably, and threw himself at her mercy. Begged her forgiveness. Implored her to understand it was never his intent, he was simply stretched so thinly, there were only so many hours in the day, and he never, ever, thought of any other woman.

Tish saw his contrition and knew it was genuine. She took a deep breath, declared him forgiven, and laughed when he exuberantly picked her up and spun her in a circle, then kissed her breathless. 

“You take away my breath, truly,” he assured her. “Allow me to keep returning the favor?” When she agreed, he bore her straight off to bed, where he kept her for the next three days. Fed her, bedded her, snuggled and cuddled her, beguiled her and spun her head so thoroughly it was a mercy there was a set of holidays she had already taken, for she declared she was completely lost in a universe that had yet to be discovered.

The world at large did not know about her, and she was fine with that. They went places together, but usually arrived and left separately, and Luke was fine with that.

And then, he spun off again, after their wonderfully intense, but rather brief interlude.

And slowly, but surely, the problems began to creep into their orbit once more.

But this time, there were photos...and videos...of him with other women. Other colleagues, other costars, other women who were very quick to make it clear they found him attractive, desirable, and they were very willing to help him in any way he desired.

Tom was always the perfect gentleman, but...he was a man. And she could see when his eyes would light up if something or someone captured his attention...and even if he never acted upon it, she could still see the interest that was there.

While she was here.

There had never been any words spoken about creating a future together. Nothing for her to build a foundation on...and she knew, then, she couldn’t continue. As much as she cared for him, she couldn’t build castles in the clouds, only to see them get blown away any more.

So once again, he returned home, although this time, he too was more tempered in his enthusiasm. He knew better than to expect her to come running to him, and jump into his arms, as much as he wanted to run and throw himself into hers. When he sent her his return flight information, he asked her if she could be there to greet him. She in turn replied if instead, he would come to her flat.

“I’ll have everything waiting for you,” she’d offered.

“Would you come to mine instead?” 

Reluctantly, she agreed.

He knew what that meant.

It meant if he wasn’t very, very careful, what was waiting for him was goodbye.

She arrived with wine. He was met with a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes, but he could tell she was trying. As soon as the door was safely shut behind her, he took the bottle from her as he took her into his arms.

“Hello, Tom,” she sighed. He was known for his hugs, and she was fighting the magnetic pull that was threatening to overwhelm her resolve.

He opened his mouth to speak, but then thought better of it. Instead, he simply kissed her hair. “I missed you so,” he whispered.

When she didn’t reply right away, he pulled away to look searchingly into her face. “What? I did,” his voice both pained and defensive. “Did you not miss me?”

Her hand stroked his cheek gently. “Tom, I missed you every moment, every hour, of every day,” she answered. 

He knew she didn’t lie, and her eyes were sincere. She stood on tiptoe and stretched as far as she could to kiss him. He let her lead the intimacy level, and when she simply brushed her lips against his, his heart sank even further.

He took her hand and led her to the kitchen, where she made the appropriate sounds of pleasure. “Tom, you’ve only been back a short while, you should not have gone through any trouble.”

“I wanted to do something I thought would make you smile, but it looks like I missed the mark,” he replied quietly. 

She squeezed his hand, and looked up into his eyes.

And smiled.

“You succeeded. Let’s eat.”

Because she knew him well, she had him talking easily about his adventures and regaling her with jokes and had her laughing. But after awhile, he noticed how very little she had volunteered about her life while he was away the past weeks, and he kicked himself once more.

“Please, Tish. Talk to me. You’ve barely said two words about yourself since you’d arrived. Have we come to this, then?”

Tish had carried the plates to the sink, over his objections, and they had fallen into their usual, easy pattern of her washing, and his drying, before he had cracked. Her hands went limp in the soapy water, and carefully, he pulled them out.

She faced him, her face as pale as the lacy suds that trimmed her wrists. “I wrote you, Tom, lots of emails...maybe only sent you a fraction of them. I’ve had a difficult time, when you were gone.”

He searched her expression. “It wasn’t the media, certainly? Tish, you know, you know, I’ve told you how it’s all garbage, made-up bullshit...”

She pulled away from him, dried her hands on the tea towel, and nodded. “Yes, you’ve told me, Tom, and I do know.”

“Then what is it...don’t walk away from me, Letitia, please do me the courtesy of not turning your back, at least!”

She turned her head so he could see her in profile. “I am sorry, Tom. My feet and back are killing me, I just want to sit down.”

Helplessly, he watched as she sat in the nearby window seat, where there was no room for him to join her. He sat back at the kitchen table, and rubbed the back of his neck as he asked, “Why are you hurting so much, darling?”

She looked at him and replied, “I told you, in my emails, I’ve been putting in very long hours at work, and I guess it’s catching up with me.”

He rapidly reread her missives in his mind, every line.

Then he read between them.

“No, oh no...” he groaned. “They didn’t...they wouldn’t...”

“They would and they did,” she replied, her smile brittle and for once completely insincere. “They let me go, Tom. To be fair, I was the last of the old regime in place, but I’d hoped, I’d thought if I worked hard enough, they’d see the value in keeping me on...”

“You loved your job,” Tom spoke his dismay aloud, realizing a split second too late he was not helping matters.

Tish bent her head, her long, chestnut hair hiding her from his view. “I did, but it was just a job. Wasn’t a career or anything. There will be others...”

In a flash, Tom was kneeling at her feet. “Stop that. You were damned good at what you did, and you were making a difference. An important difference...”

“Tom, stop it! I worked as a nurse associate...”

“...in an incredibly stressful, demanding children’s hospital unit. You loved those children, Tish. They felt safe with you. Parents felt safe knowing their children were in your care when they were at work. And even though I never got the opportunity to see for myself...Tish? Tish, please look at me...I know those children loved you, too.”

“And how would you know this, Tom,” she softly huffed, trying to hide her tears.

“Because you are you. How could they not?” He wiped the ones that escaped with the pads of his thumbs.

“Because I know I do. Love you, that is.”

And so, Tish looked into Tom’s eyes, and asked him:

“What do you want, Tom? Before the gods, I just don’t know anymore.”

~

And it struck him, as he’d been talking in circles, he was speaking to her but getting no closer to getting to the center of what she asked him...

“Tom, I believe you can have all of those things...but I don’t think you can have them with me.”

He felt the tectonic plates in his heart crack and the beginning of a cataclysmic pole shift as his world teetered on its axis.

“Why not, Tish? Why not?”

She leaned forward and gently butted her head against his. “Because the world wants to belong to you, Tom. You have a gravitational pull all your very own. People talk of you being a star, but I see you as the sun, with so much warmth to give, radiating joy and happiness...You have success, you have a career, you have staff, for gods’ sake, and you have an amazing heart to go with it all. Everything and everyone revolves around you.

“I have spent nights waiting for your calls. Your texts. And when they didn’t come, I realized I had a choice to make. I could be one of the many spinning in orbit around you...or I could blow you a kiss for luck, and break free, in the hopes of finding someone that maybe, just maybe, wanted to belong to me, and we could revolve around each other. Create our own family, in time, and we could expand our own universe...”

As she spoke, her fingers absently played in his hair, catching and smoothing his curls by turn, caressing him. Her hands were very good at speaking for her, with her.

Tish scarcely noticed when he drew his head into her waist, and buried his face there. If it wasn’t for the slight tremor in his broad shoulders, she might not have noticed it when she did, and the faint dampness that was seeping through her blouse to touch her skin.

“Tom?”

Stricken, she tried to pull back, but he would not allow it, and kept his arms firmly wrapped around her.

“Please.” His voice was muffled and shaky. “Please, give me one more chance. The world can do as it damn well wishes...but I...I want to be that one...I want to belong to you...”

“Tom, you’re tired, and you’re upset. I’m upset as well, I do care for you. I love you, but you can’t...”

He reared back, his eyes red and watery. “No, Tish. You don’t get to tell me how I feel. You say I am the sun, but...I say you are the moon.”

“A cold, dead, barren, hunk of rock only ever seen through a reflection of your light but otherwise invisible to all?” She lifted an eyebrow and pulled a lock of hair.

He reached up and pulled a strand in return, unable to repress a chuckle. “No, smart-ass. A heavenly body that has its own real gravitational pull, and lets me know when I’ve gone too far from shore, and also lets me know when it is time to rest. I am no star, but just a man, residing on this planet, remember?”

“You said you don’t go off spouting Shakespeare.”

“That wasn’t.”

They looked at each other in silence.

“Tom, you are tired.”

“I am. You said that you love me.”

“And I do. I have for some time.” Her hand kept stroking his scalp. “You should get some rest.”

“I...that is, would you...”

Tish smiled, a real one, reaching her eyes and her lips as she waited. She never rushed him.

“Would you stay with me tonight?”

She nodded, a little nervously. “I didn’t bring anything with me, I didn’t think—”

Tom interrupted her, “If it’s all the same, I’d rather not know what your thoughts were for tonight.” He was grimly validated by the flush he saw build from her neckline. 

“No matter.” He pulled himself up, then extended a hand to her. “I am looking forward to sleeping in your arms tonight, sweetheart.”

As they ascended the stairs, fingers entwined, Tish asked, “Come to think of it, doesn’t Shakespeare have some pretty unkind things to say about the moon..? Don’t most poets, do in fact, find it a symbol of inconstancy?”

“Not always, my darling. And you have been ever constant. You’re thinking too hard, just as you’ve been working too hard. Let your mind rest. I promise you, you don’t have to be anxious now.”

“But...”

“You don’t.”

“I...”

“Letitia.” He led her into the bedroom. “Let it go. I am here, and you are here.”

As they curled themselves around the other, each exhausted physically and emotionally, Tom murmured, “You are the star to my wandering bark.”

“...now that was Shakespeare.”

“Goodnight, Tish. I promise to see about those multiple orgasms tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Tom. No traction, please. You are more than enough man for me as you are.”

Tom fell asleep with those words in his ears, and in his heart, where they remained safely locked away for the rest of his days.

Tish awoke the next morning to his arms still around her, never again to wonder if she was to be the center of someone else’s orbit.

Apogee: the point of the orbit of the moon or satellite when it is furthest from the earth, also, the climax/culmination

Perigee: the point of the orbit of the moon or satellite when it is closest to the earth

My Constellations: @hopelessromanticspoonie @just-the-hiddles @yespolkadotkitty @vodka-and-some-sass @winterisakiller @fruitfly123  

[cannabisrefugee-esq]

(via A "Rational Suicide" Note. Ft. Anne Örtegren.)

November 9, 2019

This is a “suicide” note left by a ME/CFS sufferer who sought and found relief from her suffering via legal, medically assisted suicide.  She says this manifesto took her months to write, which I do not doubt a bit: it is long, detailed and polished and was written when she was feeling terrible.  She wrote it with the intent to describe her almost indescribable pain and experience, and to convince others to take action on behalf of ME/CFS sufferers, both of which are lofty communication goals when anyone is seriously ill.

Describing and convincing have been my most impossible endeavors since I’ve been seriously ill myself and I think I have mostly failed, judging by others’ reactions to everything I’ve managed to gather the physical and emotional grit to attempt to communicate: that I am seriously, hopelessly ill with an incurable, progressive disease, that there is no bottom to how bad this can get, and it matters not what anyone thinks about it.  Some things are just true regardless of whether anyone believes it.

In this note, ME/CFS patient Anne Örtegren describes symptoms and dilemmas I have experienced myself and she foresees logical outcomes to her predicament, something sick people and especially sick women are never allowed to do because catastrophization. For example, she knows that her heightened sensitivity to light and sound will make treatment or recovery in a hospital setting impossible where the standard of care in that environment requires constant activity and interruptions, and provides no privacy and no escape from the harsh industrial lighting, interrogations by (allegedly) well meaning staff and the general hustle and bustle of capitalistic money making on the backs and bodies of sick and dying people.

That is but one example of a sick person making informed prognostications regarding likely outcomes of the things other people want to do to us, and as someone who shares these sensitivities to light and sound (and therefore an aversion to hospital settings) as but one example of our shared experience of being seriously ill, I appreciated her spelling it out.  I also feel extremely sad that she had to, and furious that no one who allegedly cared about her wellbeing including medical professionals who should be fucking sensitive to the actual needs of real patients could make the leap themselves.  There are many such examples in this letter.

See for yourselves, and understand that as illuminating and raw as this letter is, it’s also been edited by the publisher and a so-called suicide prevention expert because the bottom line everywhere appears to be that there is no such thing as rational suicide or euthanasia because well people and people who make money off of the long-term sick and dying say so.  And because living in this capitalistic, patriarchal nightmare is so hideous for so many people that “suicide contagion” exists, where just knowing that someone, somewhere had whatever it took to end themselves is likely to cause untold numbers of happy, healthy consumers with bright futures to do the same damn thing.  Yeah that’s it, let’s keep telling ourselves that.

The letter as published is reprinted below.  The unedited letter supposedly exists online somewhere if anyone cares to look and has the energy to figure out how and where the edited version differs from the original.  Comments are open below.

Farewell – A Last Post from Anne Örtegren

Nobody can say that I didn’t put up enough of a fight.

For 16 years I have battled increasingly severe ME/CFS. My condition has steadily deteriorated and new additional medical problems have regularly appeared, making it ever more difficult to endure and make it through the day (and night).

Throughout this time, I have invested almost every bit of my tiny energy in the fight for treatment for us ME/CFS patients. Severely ill, I have advocated from my bedroom for research and establishment of biomedical ME/CFS clinics to get us proper health care. All the while, I have worked hard to find something which would improve my own health. I have researched all possible treatment options, got in contact with international experts and methodically tried out every medication, supplement and regimen suggested.

Sadly, for all the work done, we still don’t have adequately sized specialized biomedical care for ME/CFS patients here in Stockholm, Sweden – or hardly anywhere on the planet. We still don’t have in-patient hospital units adapted to the needs of the severely ill ME/CFS patients. Funding levels for biomedical ME/CFS research remain ridiculously low in all countries and the erroneous psychosocial model which has caused me and others so much harm is still making headway.

And sadly, for me personally things have gone from bad to worse to unbearable. I am now mostly bedbound and constantly tortured by ME/CFS symptoms. I also suffer greatly from a number of additional medical problems, the most severe being a systematic hyper-reactivity in the form of burning skin combined with an immunological/allergic reaction. This is triggered by so many things that it has become impossible to create an adapted environment. Some of you have followed my struggle to find clothes and bed linen I can tolerate. Lately, I am simply running out. I no longer have clothes I can wear without my skin “burning up” and my body going into an allergic state.

This means I no longer see a way out from this solitary ME/CFS prison and its constant torture. I can no longer even do damage control, and my body is at the end of its rope. Therefore, I have gone through a long and thorough process involving several medical assessments to be able to choose a peaceful way out: I have received a preliminary green light for accompanied suicide through a clinic in Switzerland.

When you read this I am at rest, free from suffering at last. I have written this post to explain why I had to take this drastic step. Many ME/CFS patients have found it necessary to make the same decision, and I want to speak up for us, as I think my reasons may be similar to those of many others with the same sad destiny.

These reasons can be summed up in three headers: unbearable suffering; no realistic way out of the suffering; and the lack of a safety net, meaning potential colossal increase in suffering when the next setback or medical incident occurs.

Important note Before I write more about these reasons, I want to stress something important. Depression is not the cause of my choice. Though I have been suffering massively for many years, I am not depressed. I still have all my will and my motivation. I still laugh and see the funny side of things, I still enjoy doing whatever small activities I can manage. I am still hugely interested in the world around me – my loved ones and all that goes on in their lives, the society, the world (what is happening in human rights issues? how can we solve the climate change crisis?) During these 16 years, I have never felt any lack of motivation.

On the contrary, I have consistently fought for solutions with the goal to get myself better and help all ME/CFS patients get better. There are so many things I want to do, I have a lot to live for. If I could only regain some functioning, quieten down the torture a bit and be able to tolerate clothes and a normal environment, I have such a long list of things I would love to do with my life!

Three main reasons So depression is not the reason for my decision to terminate my life. The reasons are the following:

1. Unbearable suffering Many severely ill ME/CFS patients are hovering at the border of unbearable suffering. We are constantly plagued by intense symptoms, we endure high-impact every-minute physical suffering 24 hours a day, year after year. I see it as a prison sentence with torture. I am homebound and mostly bedbound – there is the prison. I constantly suffer from excruciating symptoms: The worst flu you ever had. Sore throat, bronchi hurting with every breath. Complete exhaustion, almost zero energy, a body that weighs a tonne and sometimes won’t even move. Muscle weakness, dizziness, great difficulties standing up. Sensory overload causing severe suffering from the brain and nervous system. Massive pain in muscles, painful inflammations in muscle attachments. Intensely burning skin. A feeling of having been run over by a bus, twice, with every cell screaming. This has got to be called torture.

It would be easier to handle if there were breaks, breathing spaces. But with severe ME/CFS there is no minute during the day when one is comfortable. My body is a war zone with constant firing attacks. There is no rest, no respite. Every move of every day is a mountain-climb. Every night is a challenge, since there is no easy sleep to rescue me from the torture. I always just have to try to get through the night. And then get through the next day.

It would also be easier if there were distractions. Like many patients with severe ME/CFS I am unable to listen to music, radio, podcasts or audio books, or to watch TV. I can only read for short bouts of time, and use the computer for even shorter moments. I am too ill to manage more than rare visits or phone calls from my family and friends, and sadly unable to live with someone. This solitary confinement aspect of ME/CFS is devastating and it is understandable that ME/CFS has been described as the “living death disease”.

For me personally, the situation has turned into an emergency not least due to my horrific symptom of burning skin linked to immunological/allergic reactions. This appeared six years into my ME/CFS, when I was struck by what seemed like a complete collapse of the bodily systems controlling immune system, allergic pathways, temperature control, skin and peripheral nerves. I had long had trouble with urticaria, hyperreactive skin and allergies, but at this point a violent reaction occurred and my skin completely lost tolerance. I started having massively burning skin, severe urticaria and constant cold sweats and shivers (these reactions reminded me of the first stages of the anaphylactic shock I once had, then due to heat allergy).

Since then, for ten long years, my skin has been burning. It is an intense pain. I have been unable to tolerate almost all kinds of clothes and bed linen as well as heat, sun, chemicals and other everyday things. These all trigger the burning skin and the freezing/shivering reaction into a state of extreme pain and suffering. Imagine being badly sunburnt and then being forced to live under a constant scalding sun – no relief in sight.

At first I managed to find a certain textile fabric which I could tolerate, but then this went out of production, and in spite of years of negotiations with the textile industry it has, strangely, proven impossible to recreate that specific weave. This has meant that as my clothes have been wearing out, I have been approaching the point where I will no longer have clothes and bed linen that are tolerable to my skin. It has also become increasingly difficult to adapt the rest of my living environment so as to not trigger the reaction and worsen the symptoms. Now that I am running out of clothes and sheets, ahead of me has lain a situation with constant burning skin and an allergic state of shivering/cold sweats and massive suffering. This would have been absolutely unbearable.

For 16 years I have had to manage an ever-increasing load of suffering and problems. They now add up to a situation which is simply no longer sustainable.

2. No realistic way out of the suffering A very important factor is the lack of realistic hope for relief in the future. It is possible for a person to bear a lot of suffering, as long as it is time-limited. But the combination of massive suffering and a lack of rational hope for remission or recovery is devastating.

Think about the temporary agony of a violent case of gastric flu. Picture how you are feeling those horrible days when you are lying on the bathroom floor between attacks of diarrhoea and vomiting. This is something we all have to live through at times, but we know it will be over in a few days. If someone told you at that point: “you will have to live with this for the rest of your life”, I am sure you would agree that it wouldn’t feel feasible. It is unimaginable to cope with a whole life with the body in that insufferable state every day, year after year. The level of unbearableness in severe ME/CFS is the same.

If I knew there was relief on the horizon, it would be possible to endure severe ME/CFS and all the additional medical problems, even for a long time, I think. The point is that there has to be a limit, the suffering must not feel endless.

One vital aspect here is of course that patients need to feel that the ME/CFS field is being taken forward. Sadly, we haven’t been granted this feeling – see my previous blogs relating to this here and here.

Another imperative issue is the drug intolerance that I and many others with ME/CFS suffer from. I have tried every possible treatment, but most of them have just given me side-effects, many of which have been irreversible. My stomach has become increasingly dysfunctional, so for the past few years any new drugs have caused immediate diarrhoea. One supplement triggered massive inflammation in my entire urinary tract, which has since persisted. The list of such occurrences of major deterioration caused by different drugs/treatments is long, and with time my reactions have become increasingly violent. I now have to conclude that my sensitivity to medication is so severe that realistically it is very hard for me to tolerate drugs or supplements.

This has two crucial meanings for many of us severely ill ME/CFS patients: There is no way of relieving our symptoms. And even if treatments appear in the future, with our sensitivity of medication any drug will carry a great risk of irreversible side-effects producing even more suffering. This means that even in the case of a real effort finally being made to bring biomedical research into ME/CFS up to levels on par with that of other diseases, and possible treatments being made accessible, for some of us it is unlikely that we would be able to benefit. Considering our extreme sensitivity to medication, one could say it’s hard to have realistic hope of recovery or relief for us.

In the past couple of years I, being desperate, have challenged the massive side-effect risk and tried one of the treatments being researched in regards to ME/CFS. But I received it late in the disease process, and it was a gamble. I needed it to have an almost miraculous effect: a quick positive response which eliminated many symptoms – most of all I needed it to stop my skin from burning and reacting, so I could tolerate the clothes and bed linen produced today. I have been quickly running out of clothes and sheets, so I was gambling with high odds for a quick and extensive response. Sadly, I wasn’t a responder. I have also tried medication for Mast Cell Activation Disorder and a low-histamine diet, but my burning skin hasn’t abated. Since I am now running out of clothes and sheets, all that was before me was constant burning hell.

3. The lack of a safety net, meaning potential colossal increase in suffering when the next setback or medical incident occurs The third factor is the insight that the risk for further deterioration and increased suffering is high.

On top of the nearly unbearable symptoms it is very likely that in the future things will get even worse. An example in my case could be my back and neck pain. I would need to strengthen muscles to prevent them from getting worse. But the characteristic symptom of Post-Exertional Malaise (PEM) when I attempt even small activities, is hugely problematic.

Whenever we try to ignore the PEM issue and push through, we immediately crash and become much sicker. We might go from being able to at least get up and eat, to being completely bedbound, until the PEM has subsided. Sometimes, it doesn’t subside, and we find ourselves irreversibly deteriorated, at a new, even lower baseline level, with no way of improving.

PEM is not something that you can work around.

For me, new medical complications also continue to arise, and I have no way of amending them. I already need surgery for one existing problem, and it is likely that it will be needed for other issues in the future, but surgery or hospital care is not feasible for several reasons:

One is that my body seems to lack repairing mechanisms. Previous biopsies have not healed properly, so my doctor is doubtful about my ability to recover after surgery.

Another, more general and hugely critical, is that with severe ME/CFS it is impossible to tolerate normal hospital care. For ME/CFS patients the sensory overload problem and the extremely low energy levels mean that a normal hospital environment causes major deterioration. The sensory input that comes with shared rooms, people coming and going, bright lights, noise, etc, escalates our disease. We are already in such fragile states that a push in the wrong direction is catastrophic. For me, with my burning skin issue, there is also the issue of not tolerating the mattresses, pillows, textile fabrics, etc used in a hospital.

Just imagine the effects of a hospital stay for me: It would trigger my already severe ME/CFS into new depths – likely I would become completely bedbound and unable to tolerate any light or noise. The skin hyperreactivity would, within a few hours, trigger my body into an insufferable state of burning skin and agonizing immune-allergic reactions, which would then be impossible to reverse. My family, my doctor and I agree: I must never be admitted to a hospital, since there is no end to how much worse that would make me.

Many ME/CFS patients have experienced irreversible deterioration due to hospitalization. We also know that the understanding of ME/CFS is extremely low or non-existent in most hospitals, and we hear about ME/CFS patients being forced into environments or activities which make them much worse. I am aware of only two places in the world with specially adjusted hospital units for severe ME/CFS, Oslo, Norway, and Gold Coast, Australia. We would need such units in every city around the globe.

It is extreme to be this severely ill, have so many medical complications arise continually and know this: There is no feasible access to hospital care for me. There are no tolerable medications to use when things get worse or other medical problems set in. As a severely ill ME/CFS patient I have no safety net at all. There is simply no end to how bad things can get with severe ME/CFS.

Coping skills – important but not enough I realize that when people hear about my decision to terminate my life, they will wonder about my coping skills. I have written about this before and I want to mention the issue here too:

While it was extremely hard at the beginning to accept chronic illness, I have over the years developed a large degree of acceptance and pretty good coping skills. I have learnt to accept tight limits and appreciate small qualities of life. I have learnt to cope with massive amounts of pain and suffering and still find bright spots. With the level of acceptance I have come to now, I would have been content even with relatively small improvements and a very limited life. If, hypothetically, the physical suffering could be taken out of the equation, I would have been able to live contentedly even though my life continued to be restricted to my small apartment and include very little activity. Unlike most people I could find such a tiny life bearable and even happy. But I am not able to cope with these high levels of constant physical suffering.

In short, to sum up my level of acceptance as well as my limit: I can take the prison and the extreme limitations – but I can no longer take the torture. And I cannot live with clothes that constantly trigger my burning skin.

Not alone – and not a rash decision In spite of being unable to see friends or family for more than rare and brief visits, and in spite of having limited capacity for phone conversations, I still have a circle of loved ones. My friends and family all understand my current situation and they accept and support my choice. While they do not want me to leave, they also do not want me to suffer anymore.

This is not a rash decision. It has been processed for many years, in my head, in conversations with family and friends, in discussion with one of my doctors, and a few years ago in the long procedure of requesting accompanied suicide. The clinic in Switzerland requires an extensive process to ensure that the patient is chronically ill, lives with unendurable pain or suffering, and has no realistic hope of relief. They require a number of medical records as well as consultations with specialized doctors.

For me this end is obviously not what I wanted, but it was the best solution to an extremely difficult situation and preferable to even more suffering. It was not hasty choice, but one that matured over a long period of time.

A plea to decision makers – Give ME/CFS patients a future! As you understand, this blog post has taken me many months to put together. It is a long text to read too, I know. But I felt it was important to write it and have it published to explain why I personally had to take this step, and hopefully illuminate why so many ME/CFS patients consider or commit suicide.

And most importantly: to elucidate that this circumstance can be changed! But that will take devoted, resolute, real action from all of those responsible for the state of ME/CFS care, ME/CFS research and dissemination of information about the disease. Sadly, this responsibility has been mishandled for decades. To allow ME/CFS patients some hope on the horizon, key people in all countries must step up and act.

If you are a decision maker, here is what you urgently need to do: You need to bring funding for biomedical ME/CFS research up so it’s on par with comparable diseases (as an example, in the US that would mean $188 million per year). You need to make sure there are dedicated hospital care units for ME/CFS inpatients in every city around the world. You need to establish specialist biomedical care available to all ME/CFS patients; it should be as natural as RA patients having access to a rheumatologist or cancer patients to an oncologist. You need to give ME/CFS patients a future.

Please listen to these words of Jen Brea, which sum up the situation in the US, but are applicable to almost every country:

“The NIH says it won’t fund ME research because no one wants to study it. Yet they reject the applications of the world class scientists who are committed to advancing the field. Meanwhile, HHS has an advisory committee whose sole purpose seems to be making recommendations that are rarely adopted. There are no drugs in the pipeline at the FDA yet the FDA won’t approve the one drug, Ampligen, that can have Lazarus-like effects in some patients. Meanwhile, the CDC continues to educate doctors using information that we (patients) all know is inaccurate or incomplete.”

Like Jen Brea, I want a number of people from these agencies, and equivalent agencies in Sweden and all other countries, to stand up and take responsibility. To say: “ME! I am going to change things because that is my job.”

And lastly Lastly, I would like to end this by linking to this public comment from a US agency meeting (CFSAC). It seems to have been taken off the HHS site, but I found it in the Google Read version of the book “Lighting Up a Hidden World: CFS and ME” by Valerie Free. It includes testimony from two very eloquent ME patients and it says it all. I thank these ME patients for expressing so well what we are experiencing.

My previous blog posts:

From International Traveler to 43 Square Meters: An ME/CFS Story From Sweden

Coping With ME/CFS Will Always Be Hard – But There are Ways of Making It A Little Easier

The Underfinanced ME/CFS Research Field Pt I: The Facts – Plus “What Can We Do?

The Underfinanced ME/CFS Research Field Pt II: Why it Takes 20 Years to Get 1 Year’s Research Done

Take care of each other.

Love, Anne

Comments Open.

[murasaki-murasame]

I guess it’s time for me to put on my clown wig and make a complete fool of myself by dumping out all my last-minute thoughts about what I want and expect from the Sarazanmai finale, now that we’re just a few hours away from it.

Mostly this is just gonna be me trying to rationalize a way this could end happily for everyone involved even though I know full well the finale’s gonna murder me. [And tbh this is mostly gonna be me talking about Reo and Mabu lol]

lmao I have so many scattered and messy thoughts about all this, where do I even begin.

Most of all I’m still clinging onto the hope that Reo and Mabu will some way or another get revived in the finale. I’m bracing myself for the worst, though. I just feel like their deaths don’t even fit into the typical pattern of Ikuhara characters ‘dying’ as a way to transcend reality. Reo’s death in particular was so down to earth and casual that I don’t really think it’s satisfying or even bittersweet in the way that a lot of other Ikuhara endings are.

I also just think it seems really noteworthy that instead of getting sucked into the hell of never ending, beginning, or connecting, the ring representing Mabu’s place in the big circle of society bounced back and manifested in the real world to land in Reo’s pocket. And then Reo himself turned into the same sorta ring after he died even though he didn’t even become a kappa zombie or anything, and he just died a regular death. I get the feeling that Keppi might have somehow stepped in to stop them from completely being destroyed, considering what he said after Mabu’s death about how he was going to make sure to connect their desires to the future.

It just comes across like they’re in some sort of stasis where there’s still a chance to bring them back somehow. At the very least, I don’t really see what the entire point of them turning into rings would be other than that.

I’ve also been thinking for a while now that it might be Sara and Keppi who get the trademark ‘self-sacrifice/transcending reality’ Ikuhara ending, rather than any of the main trio or Reo and Mabu. I could even see it being a thing where they don’t even die, but they basically give up their place in the human realm and go back to the kappa kingdom permanently, which wouldn’t even be that sad of an ending for them in my opinion. There’s a lot of different ways it could play out, but I’ve got two ideas.

For one thing, I think Sara might be able to create her own dish of hope like Keppi can. He said he was the only one who can do that [I think he did, at least], but he’s also clearly been lying about being the ‘sole survivor of the kappa kingdom’ so I don’t really trust that, and the fact that the main dish of hope that we’ve spent most of the series working toward has already been used makes me think that another one might be introduced in the finale so that another wish can be made. It also seems really fishy to me that the scene with her and Haruka in ep10 revealed that Sara’s head ornament thing is apparently a type of plate. It makes me wonder if maybe there’s gonna be a reveal where we find out that she’s been hiding a dish of hope in plain sight, literally right on top of her head.

I could also maybe see a situation where Sara and Keppi transplant their own shirikodama into Reo and Mabu to bring them back, like what Kazuki wanted to do with Haruka in ep6. I’ve been wondering ever since that episode if that whole idea was going to come up again, at least. I think this could lead to the sorta situation I mentioned before where they have to give up their place in the human world, since as we also learned in ep6, giving up your shirikodama ejects you from the circle. But they might still be able to just go back to the kappa kingdom even after that so it might not be a big deal for them.

And along those same lines, maybe instead of Sara and Keppi both giving up their shirikodama, maybe Keppi will transplant the two halves of his broken shirikodama into Reo and Mabu. I guess it’s not really that different than the other option, but still. I think it’d at least be a nice bit of symbolism if they end up with two halves of the same shirikodama.

I’ve also been toying with the idea that maybe as part of the whole thing with how they deleted all the tweets from the ReoMabu twitter account, maybe if the finale involves them getting revived, the twitter account will basically be ‘rebooted’ and start posting all new tweets about their post-anime lives together. That’d be a really nice way to turn things around from how depressing the end of ep10 was. And it might be a good way to help balance out the fact that they probably wouldn’t get that much screen time in the finale even if they get revived, so giving them an epilogue story of sorts in twitter form could help make it feel more fleshed out.

In general I’m just gonna be disappointed if they stay dead in the finale, lol. I’m not going to make any harsh judgments or final opinions until the last episode airs, but I just think it’d be lame if their ending is just ‘they died, the end’. It’s obvious what sorta social commentary Ikuhara’s trying to make with them, but I feel like there’d be nothing subversive or interesting about commenting on how gay characters are ‘punished’ for being open about their feelings by just, y’know, effectively doing exactly that. Especially since it feels like Enta’s probably not gonna end up being able to properly tell Kazuki about his feelings either.

But the bottom line is that we just have to wait and see how it pans out. I don’t want to jump to any conclusions. And even if I end up disappointed by it, it wouldn’t make me hate Ikuhara as a content creator or as a person or anything. It’d just make me wish that more people would go about this kind of social commentary by giving gay characters happy endings where they get to be open about themselves.

Anyway, aside from the whole question of if this two will stay dead or not, I think the thing I most want out of the finale is some sort of a concrete explanation of how the ReoMabu manga fits into the whole timeline. We know for a fact that it’s canon to the anime timeline and isn’t some sort of an alternate universe story, but the more I think about it, the harder it is to figure out where it fits in.

It boils down to whether it happened before or after the anime, I guess, but both options don’t make complete sense. It seems more logical to assume that it happened before the anime, but it’s worth noting that the twitter account seems to end right before Reo and Mabu head off to the war, but they never acknowledge Sara at all in the whole twitter account, and I think there was even a tweet they made about Children’s Day ‘not being relevant to them’. Which seems like a hint that they haven’t even met Sara by that point.

But it happening after the anime comes with some more obvious inconsistencies. Though honestly I prefer this option, and I think a lot of questions about it could be solved if we assume it takes place post-anime with Reo and Mabu being revived but with some of their memories erased, and if we assume that the otters are completely defeated by this point.

I think the only thing that seems to concretely ‘date’ the manga is the absence of the Skytree, but I still think that it’s very likely the Skytree might just get destroyed in the finale as part of the big final clash between Keppi and Otter, so I think that’s not necessarily a contradiction. There’s also the fact that in the manga, the name and design of the police station is plate-themed instead of otter-themed, which on paper seems to indicate that it’s taking place before the otters took over, but it might instead indicate that it takes place after they’ve been defeated.

The whole thing with them not recognizing Sara at all in the final chapter of the manga also sticks out to me a lot now that we know Reo and Mabu used to be quite close with Keppi. It just seems like no matter where in the timeline the manga takes place, if they know about Keppi, they should probably be aware of who Sara is. But who knows. I just think it might be a hint that they get their memories of everything related to the kappas and otters erased after the anime.

I also think the whole premise of Sara being abandoned in the human world and conveniently adopted by Reo and Mabu seems more and more baffling the more we learn about them all as characters, and I think it might make more sense if it happens after the anime. Maybe Sara uses up so much of her power that her human form reverts back into being a baby. Who even knows! It’s weird in it’s own way to assume that the princess of the kappa kingdom just got abandoned in the human realm before any of this even happened.

The bit with her reuniting with her manager and Keppi also comes across as being pretty final to me. I get the feeling that she’s leaving the human world forever and isn’t going to be able to come back. Which makes me think that even if most of the manga takes place pre-anime, maybe the final chapter or two alone happens much later. Somehow. 

Then there’s the possibility of time looping being involved and there’s just too many ways it could all play out, lol. I just really want there to be a clearly understandable timeline of events once this is all done, otherwise it’s gonna nag at me forever.

If we find out that the manga happened pre-anime, I think they should have basically adapted it into an episode of the anime somewhere in the second half, to flesh Reo and Mabu out more. But we’ll see.

Also, before I forget, the Sarazanmai twitter account reposting the old PVs is making me wonder if we ever heard Reo’s line from his PV about assumptions being dangerous in the show itself. All of the other lines everyone said in that series of PVs ended up being used in the show itself, but I don’t remember that line of Reo’s ever coming up. I’m definitely just grasping at straws but it makes me hope that maybe it means it’ll be part of the finale. It at least gives me the mental image of him and Mabu appearing at the last minute to help fight against Dark Keppi and the Otters or whatever, and them being like ‘BITCH U THOUGHT!!! >:^)’

I don’t really have as many concrete predictions for what’ll happen with the main trio, even though they’re gonna be the focus of the finale. Mostly I just hope this doesn’t end with Kazuki making a wish to turn back time. I feel like that wouldn’t really fit the whole narrative and message of this show. And honestly there’s only so much that could even be ‘fixed’ by turning back time. Like, sure Kazuki might be able to improve his personal relationships and maybe prevent Haruka’s accident, but would turning back time do anything about Toi’s family history and Chikai’s criminal ties? Would it do anything about the destruction of the kappa kingdom, or Mabu’s death and rebirth with a mechanical heart? Would it do anything about Enta’s presumably one-sided crush? It just feels like there’s only so much that could even be achieved with that sort of an ending, unless they completely undo everything. But going by how ep6 played out, I don’t think Ikuhara’s planning on that sort of ending. I just want this to end with the main trio having to move on with their lives and live with the consequences of how everything turned out.

But if we exclude the possibility of time looping and whatnot, I don’t really have any strong ideas about how things might turn out with them. But I guess all they really need to do is just save Toi from venturing outside the circle, and after that they can just deal with the rest of their lives together.

The big wildcard seems to be the fact that we’re finally gonna figure out the true meaning of the very first scene in ep1, which is still one big question mark. It does come across like it’s hinting at some kind of a time loop, but who knows. One way or another I feel like I might end up rewatching ep1 right after the finale. It’ll be interesting to see if it carries any additional meaning after all that.

And on the topic of ep1, even aside from that very first scene, I’ve always kept thinking back to how part of ep1 involved some narrative misdirection where we found out that in the scene at the car garage, ‘Sara’ was just Kazuki cross-dressing. It just seems interesting to me that that level of outright misdirection and lying to the viewer hasn’t really come up again, outside of Enta’s delusions. So I’ve just been wondering if it might ever come up again somehow. Though I also can’t help but hope that his cross-dressing will come up again one way or another since it kinda got unceremoniously dropped after ep6, so maybe I’m just grabbing at straws, lol. I do feel like it’d be a bit of a shame if there’s no actual deeper link between Kazuki and Sara, one way or another.

Though on that note, I do think it’s still pretty likely that if the ending involves her leaving the human realm, we might get an epilogue scene that shows that Kazuki’s basically taken her place as the local idol/TV presenter. Which I think would be a cute way to tie everything together.

In terms of happy epilogue type stuff with the main trio, I think it’d also make sense if we see them all playing soccer together.

I don’t really have much investment in shipping any of them, but part of me’s still holding out hope for a polyamory ending. But the more it goes on the more it does feel like Ikuhara doesn’t plan to really go anywhere super substantial with any of them in terms of their romantic relationships. Which is fine. I think it’d probably just be kinda sad if this ends with two of them getting together and one of them being ‘left out’. I’d rather it be an all or nothing type of thing.

Even the ep11 synopsis hints at the idea of them wishing for something at the end of all this, but I don’t know if that means they’ll literally make a wish with a dish of hope in the finale, after Kazuki just used his to save Enta. It might just be more about them finally bonding properly as a trio and resolving to keep living together.

But I do still think that Sara’s gonna make a wish on her own secret dish of hope, though. And if that happens I think the only things she’d really want to wish for would be related to saving Reo and Mabu, or turning back time completely.

All in all, as much as I want to go into this finale with restrained hopes and measured expectations, I still feel like this is the most stressed I’ve felt about an anime finale ever since Yuri on Ice, lmao. It’s gonna be really sad to see this all end. Even if we still have Migi’s manga adaptation and the second LN volume to look forward to afterwards.

[mybleachedsoul]

ichiruki month. day 5. futuristic au

rated m. contains angst, mature language and adult content; you have been warned.

inspired by the Alien franchise

                                                     05/08

                                                            //

“Ichigo,” she spoke his name softly, but he didn’t turn around.

“Don’t waste your breath trying to make me change my mind, Rukia. I’m going. End of the story.”

He loaded his gun and placed it back onto the counter, then reached for his taser. Rukia sighed. “Ichigo,” she repeated. “There is a 4.7% change we’ll make it out of there alive, I-.”

“Which is exactly why I won’t let you go down there on your own,” Ichigo interrupted.

Rukia bit the inside of her cheek. “Renji’s on orders, too.”

“Bullshit!” Ichigo shouted as he turned around, finally letting go of all the weapons he’d been getting ready. “As if I’d trust Renji with anything, let alone your fucking life, Rukia.”

“Goddamn it, will you just listen to me,” she continued with a louder, stronger voice. “Your duty does not require you to go on that suicide mission. You’re a pilot, Ichigo,” she gestured the outside of his cabin. “What if you die out there and we can’t even ship back home?”

“Hisagi’s just as skilled as I am when it comes to flying this ship,” Ichigo replied, brows frowned. Just as Rukia rolled her eyes and was about to retort, he opened his mouth again. “You know as well as I do that I didn’t train all those fucking years to back down when the situation got dangerous.”

Rukia took a step forward, throwing an arm in the air in a wave of indignation and frustration. “This is more than your basic ‘dangerous’ mission Ichigo. The whole fucking system is corrupted! Not only did the ship get infested with aliens, the AI’s are uncontrollable and will most likely try to kill us as soon as we take a step onto that platform. Not to mention the black box is probably not even working properly.”

Ichigo huffed out an infuriated growl but turned back to his table; back to the weapons he was in the middle of laying out in front of him. He grabbed a pack of ammunition for his XM8 assault rifle and shoved it in his side pack, moving fast, too fast to Rukia’s liking.

She walked forward, her boots creating loud thuds for each of the five steps she made to reach Ichigo’s side. She clamped her hand on his forearm and pulled. “Ichigo, stop! Did you hear a goddamn word I just said?”

“You think I don’t know all of that already?” he yelled back at her. Rukia blinked once, suddenly aware of the fact that other passengers might hear them argue. “I. don’t. fucking. care, Rukia,” he said, breaking each word at a time to make it clearer. “I don’t know if there’s any way I can say it that’ll be clear enough for you.”

“There’s no way I’m letting you face death for no evident reason other than to satisfy your own ego,” Rukia stated, voice lower and eyes set in the cold flames of self-assurance.

“It has nothing to do with my ego, it’s about protecting you,” he answered, eyes stabbing into hers.

Rukia maintained eye-contact for a very silent, yet heavy minute, then sighed. “Why are you so set on protecting me,” she practically whispered. “I can take care of myself.”

Ichigo’s hard stare softened gradually. “I know. But that’s what we do, Rukia.”

She breathed out, shakily. “Do what?” she asked him.

His eyebrows flinched, in the faintest of ways. “Protect each other.”

Rukia stayed still, in fact she felt like she couldn’t move a freaking muscle. She read the fear in Ichigo’s irises, and let out a breath of defeat. Her purpose fell low, lower than she ever expected, and she turned her back to him, intending to walk out of the room and expecting him to resume preparing his weapons.

But instead of walking out she stopped mid-way, and felt herself shiver. She didn’t need to see her arms to know goosebumps had taken over under her long-sleeved shirt. She hugged her arms in a weird attempt to comfort the cold crawling on her skin.

“How the hell am I supposed to live with myself if you don’t make it out alive?” she murmured, so inaudible she wondered if she’d said the words out loud.

She had joined the Yutani crew before he did. She was a few years older than he was. Maybe somehow she felt responsible for his safety.

He was supposed to pilot this ship.

He was never supposed to sacrifice his life.

Rukia heard his footsteps -two, perhaps. He was closer, but not close enough for her to feel his presence behind her.

“And how the hell am I supposed to do that, knowing I stayed on the side lines while you were in danger?” he said, voice soft and pained reaching to her in ways she knew were wrong.

Rukia squinted her eyes shut, a worried crease appearing between her eyebrows. She clenched her fists and an uneasy breath escaped her throat. She turned around hesitantly, well aware that the hurt expression of her face was obvious.

She faced him. “Ichigo,” she whispered and her voice broke almost as soon as her heart did when she saw his face and before she knew it he was on her; hands cupping her face and lips crashing onto hers in unspoken despair.

Throwing away any logic, any sense of rationality and objectivity, she kissed him back.

Kissing her was exactly like Ichigo had pictured, oh so many times, before falling asleep or after catching a forbidden glimpse of her naked skin as she stripped out of her outer space body suit. Her lips were soft, too soft, that they made his mind start spinning and his only response was to kiss her harder.

He needed more, more, more of her.

All of her.

He didn’t know if he pushed her backward or if she pulled him with her but Rukia’s back eventually hit the wall, causing him to groan as their bodies came in contact. Rukia’s hand traveled through his hair and pulled hard, and Ichigo felt every particle of self-control slipping away as he grabbed Rukia’s legs to lift her up and wrapped them around his waist. Supporting her weight on the wall, he felt her breathe out a sharp moan and tangled his tongue with hers, tasting her deeper.

The rest happened in a blur, as if the world was nothing but a far memory now composed of nothing but dust, and all that was left was her. Her porcelain and pink skin after she was rid of any piece of clothing, and the way it felt against him. Her sad and lustful eyes when she looked deep into his own, right before he let himself slowly enter her. Her beautiful moans every time he moved his hips or let his teeth graze any inch of her skin, as if she was ridding herself of her cold mask and letting her most hidden self come to life. The way her legs trembled against his waist as he thrusted deeper and faster, and the way she bit her bottom lip and frowned her brows in pleasure.

The way she held his hand with every bit of life she had, fingers intertwined and pressed against the white mattress.

In this moment, their moment, they could pretend that nothing else mattered. Not the ship, not the mission. Not even death itself.  

@ichirukimonth

[saferincages]

one of my favorite things about the narrative arc of CXG so far is the constant re-examination of that very first action in the premise - that is, Rebecca’s move to West Covina. Rebecca was suffering in New York. She was floundering. Sure, she had a prestigious job, but it wasn’t fulfilling her, and she (from what we’ve seen) had no worthwhile personal connections. When she sees Josh on the street, he mentions happiness, and she’s enraptured by the idea of that. She transfers that idealization onto Josh, but it’s not ABOUT him, “it never was” (so her line in the first theme song, “But that’s not why I’m here!” turned out to be unexpectedly true). 

In “I’m Going to the Beach with Josh and His Friends!” on the party bus, an explanation is demanded of her, and though she skirts the issue about following Josh, what she admits to is actually completely honest: “The truth is, I was miserable in New York. I was so depressed. And all I did was work. I had no life. The world was just, like, gray. And then I ran into you, Josh. And, and you told me about West Covina, and you kept using the word "happy." And I hadn't, like, thought about that word in so long and it just, like, reverberated within me. And so that day, I-I made the decision that I...I had to be where the happiness was. So I put feelers out and I got a job here. Look, was it impulsive? Yes. Was it crazy? I don't like that term. But the point is, guys, it's the best decision I've ever made. I love it here. I love it. I love the sunshine. I love the strip malls where you can get a foot massage and a smoothie and a new key made in, like, less than 20 minutes. I love driving on the freeway. I love what the dry heat does to my hair. I love everything about this place, okay? So the reason that I'm here, the real reason that I'm here? It's not logical, it's not rational. I'm in love. With West Covina." Absolutely nothing in that monologue was a lie. Her confession of being in love with Josh later, when Paula picks her up, is still rooted in this same idea - he’s kind and understanding towards her, he’s proud that she sees the treasures of that place (“can’t believe that a girl like you would think this place is a dream come true”), and she latches onto that emotion (as he does to her “being swayed by a guy like me,” both of them really idealize the attention and feeling they offer to one another, but that’s another post). Her life was changing in positive ways, and, incredibly, she was affecting many of the people around her in definitive, and often positive, ways as well. (There are probably more examples than this, but off the top of my head: in 1x15: Darryl: “Rebecca made me wake up. You know, if it wasn't for her, I wouldn't have changed my life.” Josh: “She helped me believe in myself for the first time, like...ever.” Paula: “She helped me with my marriage. She was like a surrogate daughter.” in 2x04, when Greg has begun to deal with his alcoholism and finally makes the necessary decision to go to Emory: “Though I won't forget, I won't regret, this beautiful, heart-stopping, breathtaking, life-changing...” Nathaniel in 3x05: “...challenging my world-view and warming my heart.” Valencia in 3x06: “I have never had a friend like you before.”) 

They've all been making realizations, waking up, embracing a certain authenticity in their identities and lives, changing aspects of themselves that needed to be addressed. There’s not a single character who hasn’t been influenced by her presence, and while she did a lot of reckless, hurtful things (and Josh is going to be the one who has to really sift through that now, I think, and he deserves the space to do that, they both harmed each other. while Rebecca begins to recover, I have faith that they’ll acknowledge Josh’s response to that abuse as well, but that’s also probably another post, I have too many feelings, guys), there’s a lot of good to be found there, too. The narrative never condones her negative actions, but it doesn’t demonize her, either, and keeping her empathetic and deserving of love and care is such an important perspective. These characters are all very multi-faceted, and with that humanity comes flaws (none of us are perfect or above reproach), but they all also have relatability and wonderful qualities and potential for improvement, and I appreciate the fact that making mistakes or needing help or being ill doesn’t mean someone isn’t worthwhile and capable of good.

Her relationship with Josh unraveling was inevitable, because that illusion of passion and happiness being wrapped up in one person is bound to fall apart, and as painful as her downward spiral was to witness, it also reinforced the importance of the life she’s established. When she attempted suicide previously, her mother characterized it as “inconveniencing a lot of people.” When she apologized using that exact same wording to Paula, Paula assured her that wasn’t how anyone felt. She’s surrounded by friends now, people who genuinely care for and encourage her, show concern for her, a support system that isn’t going to abandon her. She never had that before. She has women who will sleep on the floor outside her bedroom through the night because they want to know she’s safe. She has a friend who will drive through the desert (without sunscreen) to see her. She has people who wish her well and a sense of happiness (something even her mother never instilled in her - being a “survivor” can be valuable, too, when Naomi says she wants her to survive, she means it and probably even thinks that’s for the best, that it’s strength, but if surviving for Rebecca meant being numb or despondent, what kind of survival was it, really?). She has people who don’t walk away, even when they know the darkest of her truths. She has therapists who want to take time to actively help her as she works things through, who listened and diagnosed her properly. Had she hit rock bottom again in NY, had she hurt herself there, she would’ve had to face it alone, and trying to face treatment like that, all alone, is terrifying. She knew something was wrong, but she was facing it without support (“and when I tried to find a reason for my sadness and terror, all the solutions were trial and error - take this pill, say this chant, move here for this guy”), and now she has a place (“the stigma is worth it if I’ve realized who I’m meant to be, armed with my diagnosis”). More importantly, perhaps, than happiness (which is always kind of an intangible, mutable thing), she finally has hope.

Recovery doesn’t mean a cure, nor does hope negate difficulty. She will struggle and there will be hard times, that’s an unavoidable part of the process, frankly it’s an unavoidable part of being alive, especially with a chronic condition (be it mental or physical, and the writers showing the fear in that along with the work it takes to cope and move forward with it is very meaningful, this representation matters, and I’m so moved and proud of the way they’ve crafted it).

But that initial statement, which at the time was cloaked in denial, is now even more fundamental - the situation’s a lot more nuanced than that, and the best decision she made was moving to West Covina and discovering love, not with a boy, but with the unexpected found family around her, and maybe through that journey, with necessary steps, she can find a way to understand and begin to embrace herself. That’s the real love story we’re witnessing.

[theaccidentalstepmom]

Stepmom. Bonus mom. They call me GoGo.

I found myself here by accident... a happy accident. But being a full time stepmom was not something I exactly planned.

When we started dating they’d been separated 9 months and were 6 months into the divorce process. J had just filed a move away request to relocate with their 2 year old son to Hawaii where her boyfriend lived.

Dating man who’s just ended a 10 year relationship, has a toddler and is in the middle of a divorce and custody battle? Where do I sign up?!

A rational person would do a hard 180 and run away!! Less than a year out of a marriage, a 10 year marriage, is WAY too soon... right? (I still think it was too soon for him but I’m not sure waiting 6 months or even a year would have made much difference.) I had a pretty short conversation with myself and it went something like: “Okay GoGo he’s got a kid- if you’re in you have to be ALL in because this relationship goes south it affects an impressionable little boy who needs consistency right now- not more upheaval. Got it? (Yes ma’am.) Also, they have joint custody NOW but things change- life’s unpredictable- what if his ex dies and he becomes a full time dad? If you go into this relationship you go ALL in- eyes and heart open to all the possible futures. (Okay.) Finally, GoGo, just know you will probably have to step up in unexpected ways so... be ready!”

Taking care of another human being is exhausting. I love kids and can list all the adjectives on how great and rewarding children are but let’s not sugar coat this caregivign business it’s work and it’s hard work. I was a nanny for 5 years so I watched kids for maybe  6-8 hours a day and THAT was exhausting. Being a parent means that as soon as you wak up your on, then you drop your kid off at daycare and go to work when you get home, time to be a parent. You don’t have any down time. Ever. You basically don’t get to sleep until maybe they’re 5 years old.

So, I went in prepared for the unexpected. About a year into our relationship R and I were talking about moving in together and then  J’s move away request was denied so things seemed to be settling back to the old 2/2/3 custody schedule.

Then J surprised everyone and decided to move to Hawaii without P. That was a rough day.

She moved. She chose to move. Bottom line.

That’s why we’re dealing with what we’re dealing with. It’s a situation that was created by her actions and make significantly more difficult becuase of her behavior. It’s easy to get hung up and distracted by other details but it really comes back to that. Because if she had made the decision to move and owned that decision as a choice she made and been supportive of R who was now the primary parent, and done everything in her power to make the transition easier on her son and on R then that would have been another story. That would have been a very short blog. But she didn’t do that. She moved and she made it everyone else’s problem. She behaves as though this is a situation that she’s forced into. The solution to any conflict is that P move to Hawaii. She has no desire to make transitions easier for her son because when they are distressing for him, when he’s an emotional trainwreck it reinforces her belief that he needs her more than he needs his father. That he loves her more than he loves his father.

She moved. She could have stayed. She chose to move. Bottom line.

This arrangement is expensive and requires a lot of long travel (I’m not arguing that- this arrangement doesn’t seem sustainable long term but it’s her money). She is very vocal about what an inconvenience this all is, she is the victim, she has to make all the sacrifices, how she does everything for her son.

That’s her logic. Poor her. What a dedicated mother. Um yeah... sort of. But this is completely self created. If she haven’t moved she wouldn’t have to do any of this... If she she still lived here she’d get to see her son every few days and she wouldn’t have to travel every month. She would only need one apartment!

Instead of moving she could have gone to visit her boyfriend one week every month. Or he could have moved here!

She claims her move was financially motivated because SF is so expensive but her logic is SO flawed. True SF is expensive... but so is Hawaii. It’s not like she’d moved to Sacramento or Santa Rosa or even San Jose- that would have saved her money because rent is significantly cheaper and she would have been a 45 min drive away. That would have made sense. No, to “save money” she moved to Hawaii where she earns 30% less and in addition to paying for all her living expenses in Hawaii she also spends about $40K per year on an SF apartment and flights back and forth to visit her son. Which is commendable, I’m glad she’s able to visit him so frequently, but it’s hardly saving money.

In her mind she had to move. That’s what she’s told herself and she’s always coming up with explanations and excuses for how it wasn’t a choice so all the struggles are beyond her control... First she said she was moving was because rent was cheaper in Hawaii. Then she sort of dropped that (probably because no one was buying her claim that renting two apartments and flying back and forth to SF every month was less expensive than just renting one apartment in SF and not traveling) so she switched tactics. She had to move for “some reason”... but don’t focus on that- she is now the dedicated mother who sacrifices so much so she can see her son every month.

I’m not sure when or why but at some point her narrative evolved. It wasn’t enough that she was dedicated and sacrificing- how she’s also a victim. Now the lies really start. She’d lied before, many times, but this has become her persona.

Dedicated mom who’s ex is dragging her through court trying to get full custody of their son- she’s under so much stress! But she’s won’t quit fighting- she loves her son. Her ex is a monster and he’s always trying to prevent her from seeing her son and refuses to be flexible if she needs to change the schedule. And when her son is with her, her ex constantly wants to FaceTime their son and he emails her constantly and and harasses her!!

She moved there because her boyfriend lived there. Not because rent is cheaper.

She doesn’t have family in Hawii and neither does her boyfriend, all of their family and extended family lives in the midwest or East Coast.

We had met once before and I’d talked to her at a few functions but most of what I knew about her was throuh R. But she wanted to meet to talk about her move. I’d been observing her brand of crazy for over a year so I kind of new what to expect and mentally prepared myself for her to throw some twisted logic at me. I knew she’d be on her best behavior and would try to charm me- she wanted me to be her ally. We were gonna be like the lady version of Lennie Kravitz and Jason Whatever his face is... Aquaman. What I hadn’t prepared for was just how charming she would be; how convincing she would be. Damn, she is GOOD. Do you want to be Lennie or should I? You’re super styly, I think you should be him... but I’m Black so maybe it should be me?! Omg, I can’t decide. You’re so pretty, let’s braid each other’s hair!!

To hear her explain her reasons for moving she sounds very logical and rational- struggling mom who wants the best for her son. She was not the victem with me. Not at all. Strong woman has her shit together. Fully aware of the choice she’s making and she’s saying all the right things but the logic is wrong... or at least deeply flawed.

She was actually the first person to call me stepmom. I’m guessing she doesn’t remember that part of the conversation and if she does she’d probably deny it. Or maybe not- she’s unpredictable always keeping me on my toes. But let me tell you when the mother of youre boyfriend’s child meets with you and says “You’re going to be there every day, you’re stepping into the day to day “mom rol”e basically- I’m mean you’ll be his stepmom”. You REMEMBER that shit. My proverbial jaw hit the floor. SHE just called ME the stepmom. I had so many thoughts flash through my brain:

Did she just call me stepmom? Did that actually just happen?! It did! I’ve been toying around with that title with my friends because if I’m parenting every day I don’t really want to introduct myself as “P’s dad’s girlfriend”. But no way in Hell was I going to say it in front of her or bring that up today!! But SHE just said it... Okay, maybe this will go more smoothly than I thought. She seems to have a pretty clear understanding of the role I’ll be talking with HER child and seems okay with that (somehow).  If roles were reversed and I was taking to the woman who was going to be living with my child full time... I do not think I would be using that word also I would be sobbing. Stepmom. I need to tell Ramon. How is she moving? Is this really happening?

I honestly didn’t believe she was really moving until she got in the Uber to the airport.

All I can say is thank the gods I spent so much of my youth babysitting and was a nanny for 5 years because I had a pretty clear expectation for exactly how exhausting and mentally taxing being with a child 23/7 would be. Granted I’d never actually done it but I had a pretty clear idea what I was getting into. And since I hadn’t imagined this utopia it actually went really well. Like not many surprises. It was definitely more of an adjustment living with Rthan it was living with a kid.

What a difference 3 years makes. Well 2 years and 5 months really. 

--

I’ve started this blog/glorified online journal as a way to make sense of the shit beyond my control.

I’m not sure where to start... I guess it started when we met. R was 8 months out of a 10 year long relationship (8 year marriage) when we connected. He’d filed for divorce about 6 months prior and his ex had just filed a move-away request to relocate to Hawaii where her new boyfriend lived.

Here’s this incredible person that I’m falling in love with. And he’s a loving, affectionate and dedicated father who is also massively stressed out. His ex is trying to relocate with their son and she has a very expensive and aggressive attorney and she’s made it very clear she has a lot of money to throw at this to make sure she gets her way.

I guess I thought, I’m not an attorney so I can’t help R with all this legal stuff but I do know kids. I’m really good with kids. He’s a good parent parent, and this kid has a mother but both his parents are distracted and what this kids needs is an advocate. Someone not distracted by all their emotional shit and focused on him. So how can I help this kid? 

So I started reading books. Books on child psychology, books on divorce, books on parenting, books on co-parenting... books on Hugge. After a bunch of books on high conflict parenting realized we were in different territory and so I started reading books on  narcissm, passive agression, cognitive dissonance, toxic personalities anything I could get my hands on. (Thank you SF Public Library!!).

I’m the reader and I was trying to suss out what we were dealing with by reading the entire self help section of the library. R doesn’t read self help but he did seem to have good intuition about people. He was the one who kept around terms like narcissist, bi-polar and borderline personality. I looked up the actual definitions and I wasn’t comfortable using those terms. I’m still not.

Labels just make me uncomfortable. But I did and still do believe that J has some very concerning behaviors and that she can be very toxic. Also, although she appears impulsive and random her behavior has patterns- we’re defnitely playing a long game.

Also, I should mention that that when R first started using those labels was actually a red flag for me. Maybe he was the projecting- that’s what manipulative people do. Maybe HE was the bi-polar borderline narcissist, not her- so I was on high alert for any behavior or indication from him that seemed off.

I read about Parental Alienation Syndrom and I laser focused on that (I’ve since learned that a more approripate term is DV by Proxy). Regardless, R poopoo’d it- she wasn’t going to try to brainwash their son- she’s couldn’t they had a great relationship. Okay, let’s agree to disagree- hope you’re right (I really do) but just in case I’m gonna try to make sure this kid knows how to think for himself and what that feels like and how to recognize if someone is trying to tell him how to think or feel. Basically if she’s not trying to brainwash him then, great, he’ll be prepared if someone else tries. But if she is gonna try she’s going to have an uphill battle.

I just started reading this book but I think it really encapsulates my motivation and what I’m trying to instill:

“Your passivity was demanded to make that relationship work. Your recovery is living in the opposite spirit of being brow beaten to looking down at the ground. Your healing is about standing up tall, looking people in the eyes and calmly saying: I have my own opinions and I am okay if you disagree.” (Healing From a hidden Abuse, Shannon Thomas LCSW)

I do lots of role play lots of modeling behavior. I feel silly doing it but it does seem to resonate with him. The Whole Brained Child suggested adding “to me” to statements and that really resonated with me. I told R and he was on board- we started doing this right after we moved in together so P had just turned 4.

Instead of saying: It’s cold outside.

We said: It’s cold outside to me. Is it cold outside to you?

Or a variation:

Chocolate ice cream is my favorite. What’s your favorite? 

(If we agree, great- we’re the same (this time). If we disagree then that’s another learning moment.) Oh, your favorite is strawberry? Is that okay that we have different favorites? Yeah, that’s okay. Can we still be friends even though we like different things? Yeah we can.

(I think it’s normal and natural to be attracted to people with whom you have things in common. I’m not trying to deny that or change that. So I point out things we have in common (which is natural and easy to do) and I also make a conscious effort to point out differences like when his dad and I don’t like the same movie or when I like different foods than my friends.

The last one is what’s your favorite TODAY? I’m not sure where this came from either. Whatever we’re talking about the idea is that a favorite is just today, of course he can have the sand favorite the next day... or not. He can change his mind and that’s allowed and okay.

The other thing is if he asks me a question I try not to just answer him and instead ask “Hmm, what do you think?” If his answer is “I don’t know” I might probe a bit more to see

So focusing on the behavior. 

First the words

He came back from his summer in Hawaii and we knew it would take a few days to adjust. He’s a pretty mellow kid, of course he has meltdowns occassionally but usually we can talk through things. But he came back angry. Screaming. It was a drastic departure from the child who’d left to go to Hawaii. Why did dad talk to the judge and make him come home early? He wanted to be with his mom. He didn’t want to be in San Francisco because there was Covid and everyone was dying in California.

He’s 6- he gets his infomration from his parents and in this case his mother. She told him that the judge made him come home early. She told him that his home California is dangerous.

She should NOT be discussing court issues with their son. Period. Just keep him out of it.

Second, I understand that you want your kid to live wiht you in Hawaii but the reality is he lives in California so HELP him live there. Stop scaring him and making him afraid of his home. It’s very concerning that the reason he wants to be in Hawaii is because there isnt’ covid there and he doesn’t have to wear a mask or socially distance. Um... actually yes you do.

So then that brings us to blatent lies.

So this year it’s been: What’s the diffference betwen an opinion and a fact. And then we give lots of examples. When we’re talking we point out examples. It’s really warm today. That’s an opinion- the fact is that it’s 65 degrees.

He’s a bright kid and he’s a reader. I encourage him to ask questions and even look things up on the internet. Just because I say it’s true doesn’t mean it is.

He threw up and had body aches we got him a covid test. He was negative. Ra texted her the result. Later that day P as doing FT with his mom in the other room and I hear her say  “Oh, well I didn’t think you had it. Throwing up is like the least common symptom”. So then he came into our bedroom an asked me “Hey is it true that vomiting is the least likely covid symptom?”. 

Dammit. During FaceTime?? I should have thought this through better. Not that I’m going to say anything different but she can hear my and I can just imagine her rolling her eyes in the background.

So, what do I say? Because I know vomiting is one of the main symptoms on the CDC website AND vomiting was the only symptom our neighbor’s 6 year old daughter had when she had COVID. But I didn’t say that... instead I said “You know, I’m not sure. Why don’t we look it up later on the internet and see what Dr. Fauci says about it.” In your face!

[rangergirl3]

Rangergirl3 Update 

Hello everyone! :D I just wanted to give ya’ll an update on how I’m doing.

Short version: Pretty well, all things considering. :D

More details below the line - because this might get long and I don’t want to eat up your news feed. ;-) Also, if you’re going through trauma recovery, it’s probably best if you don’t read more of this (@rohanrider, I’m looking at you, my friend ;-) <3 noooo read-y, you promised <3 <3 <3 <3)

So, as I’ve posted before, I’ve been diagnosed with PTSD, anxiety, and depression. I’m currently in therapy and on meds, and although I do have some bad days, I’m doing better than before. Hooray for progress! :D :D

But some of the things that I’m working through are pretty ugly, and what makes it more difficult is that I have a narcissistic father and a mother who enables his jackass behavior - which makes the situation even more difficult.

While in therapy for my anxiety and depression (which I’ve had for almost two thirds of my life but never got treated for until just this past year) I recovered memories of severe sexual abuse by a neighbor and a family acquaintance - ‘rape’ is a horrendously ugly word, but it’s accurate. Both separate instances took place when I was about 4 and 6 years old, and unfortunately I’m not exaggerating when I say that both times I almost died. Getting used and thrown aside like a piece of trash is pretty rough on a person. But I digress. Due to being preoccupied with pretty much everything besides the well-fare of their kids, neither of my parents noticed any changes in my behavior after the incidents. 

To put it nicely, they were obtuse to a lot of obvious signs (withdrawn behavior, acting fearful in most social situations, being afraid of physical touch of anyone bigger than myself). Put honestly, they were incompetent, self-absorbed, and determined that no child of their would make them ‘look bad’ to the people in their social circle, and they are still convinced that there is no way someone from such a ‘good family’ could have ‘actual problems’.

Honestly I think both my mother and my father have a shit-ton of unresolved anger/inferiority/assorted issues that they’ve never taken the time to address. But when I was growing up, they clearly had no issues about using their kids as emotional punching bags without ever actually apologizing for what they did. 

Instead, any apology, if offered, was basically ‘Well I’m sorry for how that made you feel. But I’m your parent, and I have a responsibility to raise you right.’

Yeah, see, that’s not an apology. That’s a blanket statement that allows jackasses to slide under fence without actually being regretful for the harm they did to their kids. Which, having included emotional, physical, and psychological abuse was a pretty extensive list of harms.

Anyway, a few months ago, I wrote them a letter telling them what I’d uncovered in therapy, and I told them I didn’t blame them for the sexual attacks that occurred when I was little. But, I did ask them if they believed me, if they took what I was saying as the truth. Six weeks went by without an answer. When a letter did finally arrive, it stated that they were ‘shocked’ at what I had told them, and that while ‘their first inclination was to believe me, their daughter, their opinion had to be founded upon fact and truth.’ The phrase ‘and it seems that if we do accept your version of reality, you will not be in contact with us. That makes us sad. This has been so hard on us.’ was also in that letter. 

My father’s a lawyer. He’s really good at dancing around the issue.

But, in laymen’s terms, that means no, they do not believe me. Also, when the words ‘if we don’t accept your version of reality’ enters into a conversation, clearly rational thought has gone out the window. 

Geez. ‘My version of reality.’ I didn’t know I had Matrix powers. (sarcasm meant in order to show how desperately my parents try to bend logic and reason to change indisputable facts aka they were shitty parents)

Reeling from this final nail in the coffin of any semblance of a healthy parent/child relationship, I requested they not contact me for the foreseeable future. But, true to form, they didn’t listen. Did I mention they’re both control freaks who disregard other people in favor of their own egos? Yes, well, they then attempted to contact me many times. Every time they did, it instigated days, or even weeks, of emotional distress on my end. It heightened my anxiety, made it more likely I would get full on flash-backs to the traumatic events, and basically made my life a living hell, all because they refused to respect my boundaries. 

But then, they didn’t respect my boundaries or me when I was growing up, so it didn’t come as a surprise.

But I kept my distance and my own radio silence, because I figured that eventually, they might get the point that I meant business.

But, in December, I got a package from them that contained a religious-themed present and a small angel figurine that I’d accidentally left at my parents house years ago with a post-it note from my father ‘thinking of you - Dad’. 

Oh, joy, emotional blackmail. Breathe it in, it smells like home.

That ‘Christmas package’ was the twig that broke the camel’s back.

In short, I saw red.

I sent the angel figurine back with a three page letter that started off with:

(First name of Father) and (First name of Mother):

Clearly neither of you have grasped the concept of ‘no communication’. So, let me spell it out for you. You are not to contact me in any way, shape, or form. Do not call, text, email, or otherwise reach out to me. I have given you my husband’s contact information should you need to inform us of events, but you have not once reached out to him. So, either you misplaced his contact information, or you expressly ignored what I told you. In the spirit of second changes, here is his contact information. ----------

Again, since clearly neither of you got it the first time, once more for those in the back: You will not contact me, your daughter, in any way, shape, or form. When and if I ever feel comfortable communicating with you again, it will be in a therapist’s office, and I will use your first names. I will not call you ‘mom’ or ‘dad’. That is firmly over and done, in the past, and it will stay there.

I went on to say that:

1) it was clear I am not a priority to them, as was shown by the delay in their answer to my question

2) Their eventual answer having been ‘no, we don’t believe you’ had instigated a sustained emotional breakdown on my end

3) Their selfish need for a quick and easy resolution to this continued issue had been clearly illustrated by their refusal to respect my request for space

4) In short, while I love them, and I always will, there are consequences to their actions, and now they have to live with them, as I do every day.

Because I am worth more than a post-it note as an ‘easy fix’. 

I am worth more than their empty words and their flailing attempts to satisfy their inflated egos.

I am worth an investment of their time.

I am worth an investment of their effort.

I am worth far, far more than the selfish, grabbing motions of a narcissist and a cowardly enabler who can’t be bothered to spend either time or money on their daughter who went through Hell under their care.

It’s taken years, but I know now that I am worth so much more than they clearly think I am. And if they think I’ll come running back to that toxic, selfish, small-minded, ego-stroking hellhole of a relationship, they’ve got another thing coming.

Let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up. (as Inigo Montoya would say)

This is not a case where I hate people with a narcissistic personality disorder. Nope nope nope. That’s not the case. 

What I am doing is holding my mother and father accountable for the actions they have taken. 

My intent is not to cause them pain. I’m not a sadist. Even when I’m beyond pissed off I can’t do more than hit a wall or kick a soccer ball across the yard or scream up at the sky because I refuse to take out my anger on a person. I’ve been on that end, I’ve lived through it, and I refuse to become what I hate. 

So, no matter how much they may sob and declare that I’m simply ‘misunderstanding’ them, I’m not going to change my stance. 

If they want to talk to me, they better be prepared to commit. To listen. And maybe, just maybe, to hear what I’m saying, and file it away under ‘fact’. But I can’t make any sense of their filing system, and I’m not going to waste my life trying to chart the maze of the Minotaur. 

Regardless of what the future holds, I will not consider myself their daughter. That ship has sailed, sunk, and is at the bottom of the goddamn sea. At best, we may regain a polite, on-the-surface type of relationship at some point. But I will never call them ‘Mom’ or ‘Dad’ again.

Trust is not an obligation. Trust is a gift, and once it’s lost, there’s no checklist for getting it back.

So they can cry, moan, and wail to whoever will listen all they want.

I’m not budging.

[funkymbtifiction]

Ok, you’re right, I did some reading on Fi (especially the chapter about dominant Fi in “Was that really me?” book) and I follow it to a T (or should I say F? Lol.). And while I want to wait and see if I am really like that in the real world, I’m pretty confident in saying that I am INFP.

Yeah, reading what you wrote I’d say you are. Nothing you said was inconsistent with Fi-dom. They are generally uncomfortable with other people’s feelings and want to be left alone to their inner world.

Also, is it because I’m probably a Fi dom that I don’t understand the descriptions of Ti??? Like, everyone says “they are extremely logical and analytical”, ok but WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? What could be considered “logical” or “analytical”? Discarding their emotions and going by what seems to have more pros than cons? But pros and cons are dictated by what you like and don’t like so ?????

Spend some time studying Stephen Hawking. That’s Ti. How does he problem solve? How does he rationalize? He sought a single theory to explain all the complexities of the universe, a very Ti and Ne process. Detached, mostly invested in impersonal systems such as astrophysics, low Fe (general arrogance but also permissive to his wife having an affair since he wasn’t “enough” for her anymore). Einstein is another NTP. Generally, NTPs have a disdain for morality since it’s just a “social construct.”

The bottom line is, if I am to be brutally honest with myself, for some reason I want to be an INTP and I am stretching to every possible thing in my personality to reach it, to find some sort of thing that let me prove it.

There’s nothing shameful about being an INFP and there are many wonderful things about being an INFP that INTPs do not have, such as an internal sense of self-awareness, strong moral convictions, and personalized creativity.

As a final note, I would like to say how I appreciate you blog. During these months I checked it almost daily and it’s one of the biggest resources I use apart from books about the MBTI and Enneagram. I can’t imagine how much work you put in it every day, and to think about it I’m baffled how you would do it, because I certainly wouldn’t for so many years. I would probably let it be earlier, and this honestly only makes me appreciate it more. It must be a really big thing for you if you dedicate to it so much time without getting paid.

I’m glad it is helpful to you. I do it for several reasons – I’m a Ravenclaw, so I love to learn and explore theories and this is an ongoing learning process; I learn as I talk through things. I also have found it immensely helpful in knowing how to relate to and talk to the people in my life, so I wanted to share that knowledge in order to help others. Lastly, I think everyone should strive to be the best version of themselves possible, so if MBTI or Enneagram can help with that, it’s worth the time I spend doing it.

- ENFP Mod

[joule-w]

Gay Comedy is My Opium for Life

Movies have always been something to heal your broken heart when needed. In Woody Allen’s Hannah and Her Sisters, he finds a solution to his existential problems after seeing a film at the cinema. 

“I started getting hooked on the film, you know? And I started to feel... How can you even think of killing yourself? Isn't it so stupid? Look at all the people up there on the screen. They're real funny, and what if the worst is true: there's no god, and you only go around once, and that's it? Don't you want to be part of the experience? What the hell? It's not all a drag." [check out the full text of this monologue at the end of this post]

Life has been extra hard lately and feeling upset/depressed seems to be a daily problem for me. Silver lining is, I’ve found peace in gay comedy movies today. They are both full of clichés, but what could be more delightful than hot guys and sweet romance?

Here are some words I wrote after watching them.

The Way He Looks (2014)

There are clichés, but it's good to know that I'm still not too old for this cheesy gay coming-to-age romance. I'm as shy as Leo in a way. I wish I was brave enough to take somebody's hand like that.

Trick (1999)

Gay version of After Hours and Before Sunrise? Every gay man's fantasy. From one night stand to romance - this is too good to be true. I did forget my troubles while watching it - isn't this what movies are for?

Incidentally, I found that Trick has a sequel coming up this year. I’ve never thought I would say this but: isn’t life great? (I sound wasted already ;)

Full text of Woody Allen’s monologue in Hannah and Her Sisters:

One day, about a month ago, I really hit bottom. I just felt that in a godless universe... I didn't want to go on living. I happen to own this rifle, which I loaded, believe it or not, and pressed it to my forehead. I remember thinking, "I'm going to kill myself." Then I thought, "Well, what if I'm wrong? What if there is a god? Nobody really knows." Then I thought, "No. Maybe is not good enough. I want certainty or nothing."

And I remember very clearly the clock was ticking, and I was sitting there frozen with the gun to my head, debating whether to shoot. All of a sudden, the gun went off. I'd been so tense... my finger had squeezed the trigger inadvertently. But I was perspiring so much... the gun had slid off my forehead and missed me. Suddenly, neighbors were pounding on the door... and the whole scene was just pandemonium.

And, you know, I ran to the door. I didn't know what to say. I was embarrassed and confused. My mind was racing a mile a minute. I just knew one thing... I had to get out of that house. I had to get out in the fresh air and clear my head.

And I remember very clearly, I walked the streets. I walked and walked. I didn't know what was going through my mind. It all seemed so violent and unreal to me. I wandered for a long time on the Upper West Side. It must have been hours. My feet hurt. My head was pounding. I had to sit down. I went into a movie house. I didn't know what was playing. I just needed a moment to gather my thoughts and be logical... and put the world back into rational perspective.

And I went upstairs to the balcony... and I sat down. The movie was a film I'd seen many times in my life since I was a kid and I always loved it. I'm watching these people up on the screen... and I started getting hooked on the film, you know? And I started to feel... "How can you even think of killing yourself? Isn't it so stupid? Look at all the people up there on the screen. They're real funny, and what if the worst is true: there's no god, and you only go around once, and that's it? Don't you want to be part of the experience? What the hell? It's not all a drag."

And I'm thinking to myself... "Jeez, I should stop ruining my life... searching for answers I'm never going to get... and just enjoy it while it lasts. And after, who knows? Maybe there is something. Nobody really knows. I know maybe it’s a very slim reed... to hang your whole life on... but that's the best we have."

And then I started to sit back... and I actually began to enjoy myself.

[legalist217]

Do Voldemort/Snape/Umbridge lmao

I think you’re overestimating my ability to not be creative about the situation, as well as my self-preservation and my interest in women because that’s what makes Umbridge rank worst from an SO perspective. (she’s not even a pretty woman, she’s a super gross woman inside and out, so it does nothing for me on any level, meh, bleh, weh)

This got lengthy so it’s under a cut, you’re welcome, enjoy. And I bothered to put these into exactly no logical canon timeframe. 

Well get this out of the way, fake date umbridge. because I will find ways to mortify her. I will drag her to youmacon. I will point out a photograph taken of Nancy Pelosi in a pink suit with all the Senate pages and then assure her that, no, of course you’re just as pretty in your headmistress photo as that Muggle politician is. Why would there even be a comparison. dear. [this is a real photo that we saw being taken at the Capitol when we toured circa HBP’s film coming out; we had to stifle giggles] 

And then arrange a scenario where she’s jailed for tax evasion. I’m not marrying the toad; no fifth amendment protections for non-spouse SOs as I recall. I assume MACUSA can ensure she’s put somewhere good and tedious. 

(note: this is the only scenario where I envisioned it happening in america)

now, hm. I guess I would slow burn Voldemort because I reckon if you’re his stated enemy, that’s probably not a changeable status. He’s all emotionally stunted in that way. So enemies to lovers doesn’t seem plausible. So, then, I guess I’m some Bellatrix-esque tart, except, well, myself. So rather than wetting myself over THE DAHHK LAWD, I’m just mildly amused at his fascist goals. “That’s a way to do it, I suppose, but hate’s a pretty tedious method to carry on with the world, and let’s remember that you never actually held power long term *ducks AK* so maybe something less... Hitlery? Oh don’t look at me like that, you grew up in muggle-trash London, you know who Hitler is.” 

And it goes on and on and on and on and on and it is a slow burn because he’s incapable of love and I think the best we manage for much of the run before the author begins developing carpal tunnel is “I barely tolerate her because she has 0.01% of a point; I tell the others she is too amusing to kill.” At least now I have slytherin creds to brandish to get a foot in the door. 

And being endlessly at such a tenuous “I guess that was almost funny, so I won’t murder you?” stage, I don’t have to figure out how to kiss a noseless man or how to deal with a jealous pet snek. 

you’re going to regret this

Enemies to lovers is a very tolerable way to deal with Snape, given the options on this playing field. Professors who tell you that your answer is wrong only for the right answer to be “the same thing but because I said it, it’s right” are my least fuckin faves. Snape treads close to that territory. 

But again, I have slytherin creds now. I’m also quite impulsive, so I can see myself writing him an annoyed owl after a class detailing specific moments where his behavior decreased the educational advantage to Housemates and how this is him not being a benefit to team and should I go to Dumbledore about this; like give that one gryffindor kid double shit, dude might deserve it for all I know [I am bad at popular gossip when it comes to school IRL], but stop fuckin it up for us and maybe for other students who are genuinely trying, ya pissant. And while Snape is very much a pissant, I think he also cares a lot about the House. And to a degree, his job; he definitely gave a fuck when he was sixteen about teaching potions because he was rewriting the goddamned book. 

So, I dunno, maybe I can get through to him. I still get detention for unmitigated sass, but I knew that’d happen. Too bad he doesn’t realize how much I am wont to chat while working. And I have an IRL habit of roping even introverts into talking with me when I’m inclined to. What’s he gonna do, give me more detention? I don’t give a shit. I’ll clean this office and every office. Why the hell not. Castle’s an interesting place. How often do I get an elf’s eye view of the place? And anyway are there any good articles out on lacewing colony collapse disorder, because I hear that might screw over the polyjuice industry? Any good places to write? Lacewings are aptly named, you gotta admit. They need more words devoted to them. And then I force him to read my poetry because who the fuck else here knows about lacewings aside from maybe Hagrid who has automatic distrust of green robes? He tells me it sucks. I grin. (I cry later, but that’s not because he said it, just because no one wants to hear that their poem sucks in such flat words.)

In real life, I’m still in touch with some of my professors after graduation and some of them have outright said they think of me as a friend. I wouldn’t date them, because they are married and I am sensible and they are twice my age and the list goes on. But this is a forced narrative scenario, and given my dating history and its repeated Bad Calls, I can see me writing longer and more detailed letters than just “hey got a new job at Witch Weekly doing book reviews, it’s basically whatever’s on the Prophet’s best-seller list minus anything too difficult for a stay-at-home witch to bother with.” He writes back terse one-liners if I’m lucky. I still write a lot, because it makes me feel better about my sorta boring life. 

At some point, I dust off the old lacewing scroll and laugh at how bad it was. But the core idea of hiding oneself in another’s reflection has merit, so I rework it. Dredge up old textbooks to reference other ingredients of common potions, because Moste Potente Potions is still a restricted book so maybe not hinting at the recipe in a poem is a good call.  It’s eventually as done as this version’s going to be. I send it to him. 

It comes back around Christmas with the word “Better.” swirled in the corner. I tack it to the wall and write more. Sometimes they come back with tiny checkmarks by specific lines. I find myself quietly tallying those, like they’re gold stars and I’m back in primary school. And I have to stifle a gasp when one has a note saying he’d copied a version for himself. I can’t help imagining it pinned up on his fridge, him seeing it every day. That image is childish, but it gets me through bleak times. 

It’s a year before a poem I didn’t write comes back to me. It is so laughably bad that I’m in tears of laughter for half the night, but then, reading through it, they end up just tears. Who the fuck is this about, because none of the imagery fits me. It’s all flowers of the valley and gentle prey animals. Drawing from my name would be angels or wolves or birds of prey. Who the fuck, then, is this, and why am I sobbing. 

Printed at the bottom is a one-word question: Thoughts?

It’s all I can do not to crumple the stupid parchment and chuck it in the flames. Who is she. Who the hell would put up with such an obnoxious, icy, sneering, greasy, loser? I glance in the mirror. Who indeed. 

It’s a pathetic weekend spent balled up under a comforter trying to figure out how to rationally handle whatever the hell this is. But like I said, I’m impulsive. I have just enough Floo powder on hand, as well, and my head pokes out into a dingy flat. I think he nearly blacks out, he’s that startled. He does the many-blinking thing. 

I arrive swiftly at the point, which is to say that I sob inelegantly and the tears sizzle amid the flames. But I make my demands known through the mouthfuls of ash, both real and simply felt. Who is this other woman you’d write poetry to. 

Black eyes should be flat. His have too much depth at moments like these. There’s too much available to read. I don’t want to know that he knows I’m not crying on his behalf. He runs absent fingers through his hair as he looks at me, a gesture I’d forgotten to miss. Then he explains he wasn’t sure how to title it, which is why there wasn’t one. But it would have been an elegy. His way of burying the past.

I point out that repression isn’t healthy. At least, I think I do. Details are so hazy here in the fire. 

He kneels before me and says that is correct, if such be the case. But one must part with the past to allow for new beginnings. 

Lips brush there in the flames. And then I’m laughing. He pulls back, and I regret it just a little for how hurt those eyes are. Why do I laugh? “That poem sucked!” I shriek, before dragging myself back through the fires to my own hearth, where I lie laughing hysterically for quite some time. 

Years later, Elegy to the Valley is deemed complete. I walk with him as far as the gate, but let him enter the graveyard alone. It is summer, and I trace patterns in the warm metal, trying not to watch his shoulders shaking as he reads it to her. If he needs me, I can be there in a moment. But I would rather watch and mentally write my own poem of this moment instead. He will probably produce something about today as well. We will trade parchments and leave spare, biting comments. But our fingers will interlace at the end of the day. It suffices. 

The sky is tinged ruddy gold when he arrives back at the gate. We walk briskly to the end of the street. It’s not that we stand out; he still knows the Muggle ways. Still, this is a leonine place not meant for us. Time we made our excuses and left.

The corner is deserted. I see his eyes wander back over the church and the graves beside. I remind him he can always return. He shakes his head. “This is a parting of the ways.” He takes my hand, and we go twisting into the dark. 

so yeah, that’s what shipping me with snape looks like; any questions?

[fairycosmos]

was not tryna give a part 3 omg but i feel like my mom is just tired of me. i know she is. she barely comes home anymore n whenever i try to spend time with her she acts like it’s a task, like she’s being forced. & in ways she makes me feel bad for talking or anything but i just miss her. i miss everyone. my mom & i never had a good relationship but she’s what keeps me here & i just feel like i have nothing sometimes. my heart just hurts more than i can say. thank u for listening, ur an angel 🥺

hi bby :(( thank you for being so honest and open w me, it really is something to be proud of and is also proof that you are genuinely more capable of this than you think !! which seems like bullshit but it's not !! honestly the worst thing about treating your mental health is the amount of trial and error involved. you have to find that specifically works for you in exactly the right way. it's annoying, and you have every right to be frustrated. sometimes it can make you feel like giving up completely, because it's just so exhausting, and that's ok. as long as you understand the difference between having an urge and acting on it. the prospect of a new therapist is totally daunting but at the same time, you are allowed to set boundaries and take it at your own pace. if you do your best to explain how mentally tired you are, and that you want to take it slow, they will generally respect that. the thing about therapy is that you just don't know how it's going to go until you're there. sometimes you surprise yourself. sometimes it all just comes spilling out. sometimes you clam up. and all of it, all of it a natural part of the process. i mean this in the least patronising way, you are so strong for picking yourself up every time, for continuing to try. you may feel like your brain is totally fried right now but when push comes to shove, you are so much more than you realize.

as for school, jesus, that just be so nerve wracking and i don't blame you for being a bit scared at at all. the few weeks before you begin is always the worst part because your mind sort of runs wild with possibilities. but always try to remember that anxiety job is literally to take situations and warp them into something they're not based on fear and trepidation. in reality you have no idea what's going to happen and a middle ground, average result is always the most likely outcome anyway. take a breath. i get that logically knowing things doesn't help much with mental illness but it always helps to ground yourself. bottom line is, you will adapt and grow with the new environment even if you don't think you will. it's inevitable. you will find your routine and your mundanity again, and all of it will become second nature. even if there's a few awkward moments, even if you struggle a little at first. most people do. as long as you understand that there is always help available, always other options, and you are never trapped or totally stuck in a situation no matter how much your brain tries to convince you that you are. if your schoolwork gets on top of you, you CAN take a step back for the sake of your mental health, even if adults whine about it. if you don't know how to talk to people, learn by example and keep in mind that they're probably perceiving you better than you perceive yourself. like with therapy, let school integrate into your life at its own pace. half the battle is honestly just showing up. unfortunately all of this fear is where the growth happens. it's very normal to want to go back into hospital, to want to avoid reality, but there is no life waiting for you there. this is something i find very hard to come to terms with myself. you have to get up and touch the tangibility and live in it with everyone else. and you are, you're doing it as we speak, and that genuinely counts for so much dude. i can't stress that enough. these periods of loneliness and isolation are absolutely horrible and i don't really know the answer to them to be honest, but i do know that they are often periods of massive self growth, and they can end just as aprubtly as theuy begin. you are deserving of companionship and love, and just because it's hard to find doesn't mean it's not out there for you. in so many forms, over and over again, you will feel it. it's not as far fetched as your anxiety wants you to believe. where you're at right now isn't where you'll always be, and new beginnings are proof of that.

about your mum, god i'm so sorry she's been making you feel that way?? i can't tell you how much i relate and how much it hurt me when i was younger, and i promise you're absolutely not alone in feeling this way. so many people can and do understand, and that goes for all of this - the mental illness, the therapy stress, the fear and annoyance of starting anew. complexes caused by negative parental relationships are always so hard to heal from because they're so deeply rooted within, but i need you to try to understand that your worth does not lie in your mother and you can not force her to be mature, to to understand if she's so insistent on misunderstanding. it's one of the fuckin hardest lessons to learn and i don't know if the pain ever stops from it (though it definitely settles and becomes more manageable), but there is a point in every kids life where they just realize their parents are wrong. they're ignorant, or they're obtuse, or they're mean - and that is on them. it is a reflection of them and that is it, there's nothing else to it. of course you shouldn't have to deal with it at all, but it is not caused by you no matter how much it feels like it is, angel. your mental illness is harder for you to put up with than it is for her to witness and if she can't accept that, she's fucked. idk the details of your relationship with her, and maybe even if you sit her down and force her to listen, something will click. it's not an impossibility and i sure hope it happens, but if it doesn't i promise there are so so so sooo many other avenues of support out there. and your parents are truly not the beginning and end of the world. one day, sooner than you think, you are going to live a life divorced of her opinions, and even better, you won't feel such a craving to hear them. you will be in control of your own environment and mental well being and it will not be anything like what you're expecting. that's a guarantee, something you can always rely on. i know words are pointless, i know they're empty to you. and i know i can't make you see your situation the way i do, obviously. but i really hope you can take the time to find the ment clarity to examine why you're so averse to accepting the positive, what you can do to help yourself, and whether or not your anxieties are rooted in rationality of not. there's seriously so many ways to battle and to overcome the shit you're going through and it only feels so chaotic at the moment because you're in the midst of finding your feet. think back to when you first went into hospital, and how foreign everything felt, and how you got through it a day at a time. you didn't confront all that for nothing. you are so much more resilient than you realize and i wholeheartedly believe that. i'm assuming you're still very young, and so even the natural growth and development of your life is going to afford you so many answers and so much relief, though of course there will always be new questions and things to fight. but the bottom is you've got time, and if you have to take this one step at a time, or one hour at a time, or even a minute at a time - you can. you are okay. some days are rough but they do not negate your progress. so take a breath and try to identify what it is you need (e.g to talk to your parents, to be honest with the professionals in your life, to incorporate coping mechanisms into your daily routine so you feel less overwhelmed about school etc) and let that be good enough, because it is. i'm infinitely proud of you for being here and i know the hurt and the loneliness is a total tidal wave right now but it will it always be, and that's a certainty, unlike your fears. i really hope you find some peace of mind soon and that your mum heard you out. if you want to talk about this properly or if you need a friend i will be here. sending love and warmth to u dude. message me anytime.